


Interruption

by Phenobarbital



Category: Hannibal (TV), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Basic summary, Canon Based Hannibal S01EP7/EP9, Cheating, Completely AU TWD, Derogatory Language, Disturbing Content, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Graphic Description, Het and Slash, Homophobic Slurs, Infidelity, M/M, Main Character Death, Mental Illness, Mention of Cannibalism, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Minor Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Murder Mystery, No Carl, Partial Crossover, Undefined Hannibal & Will, Unfaithful Lori, Unfaithful Rick, Violence, graphic murder, psychopathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 58,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4298547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phenobarbital/pseuds/Phenobarbital
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four lives: Rick Grimes, his lover, his wife, his best friend, their lies, their secrets...and a murder Rick's not sure he didn't commit...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dr. Hannibal Lecter & His Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead Series, Hannibal Series or any of the characters from either franchise
> 
> -This is only partially a crossover. It's primarily TWD and Hannibal is only used for a more in depth look into psychopathy. If you watch Hannibal the series, you will understand the first chapter better but if not, then I'm hoping you will still have an idea of the kind of person Hannibal is and relates to.
> 
> \- This story plot takes place within an approximate 24 hour timeline, the continuity of the day they're going through will be spread out over the main characters POV's in the order of the story's header art image, starting from Chapter 2.
> 
> \- The TWD characters ages are not canon based. In this story Rick is in his thirties, as is Lori and Shane. Daryl is in his twenties.

* * *

 

The day had been long, uninteresting and chilly.

Hannibal closed the door to the liquor cabinet in his office, he'd been contemplating the benefit and possible setbacks of offering his next appointment, Will Graham, a drink before they began their session. He'd done so earlier in the week when Will had come to see him, and he had based the choice to do so on the premise of an experience he'd recently had with his own 'unconventional' personal therapist.

But for this next appointment he had no such excuse other than that he preferred to talk to Will in a more informal setting. He supposed he might be able to use that idea since he and Will were building a sort of friendship, he'd just have to play his cards right.

He tilted his head slightly as he considered his options.

Hannibal knew he'd have to be careful of what he said and how he said it…because Will's **trust** was a living, breathing entity which seemed to actively evade and invite Hannibal all at once into its complicated design.

There were times when Will gave Hannibal a glimpse as to what he could say or do in order to win Will's total attention and confidence. But most times his trust was stubborn and guarded, unyielding and Hannibal could practically _taste_ Will's distraction from him to other things when they were together, and _that_ irked him to no end.

He dismissed the feeling of irritation and allowed his thoughts to drift, not away from Will, however.

During their previous session, Hannibal had intentionally orchestrated a scenario in which a half full bottle of _rosé_ and a sipped on glass of wine set just beside it were left in plain sight. He'd intended to find an opening in their conversation to offer Will a glass of wine, which had depended on whether Will was in a friendlier mood at the time, 'friendlier' being a relative term with regards to Will Graham and the ever present cracks in his sanity. Hannibal had hoped that the casual exercise of having a drink would be helpful in finding a few more malleable, vulnerable points in Will's far from expertly kept, yet still frustratingly intact, state of mind.

He'd been at least partially successful, Will had had a drink with him, but he hadn't dropped his guard even a fraction throughout their session.

Hannibal had been disappointed but not discouraged.

He raised an eyebrow to himself, sliding his hand down the smooth wood of the cabinet, standing quietly in the shadow of the upper floor of his office, posture perfect, hair immaculate, not a crease in his suit and with only a ghost of a smile on his face, Hannibal thought of how curious it was that he thought so often about Will Graham.

In fact, it seemed Will was just about all he spent his time contemplating in recent weeks. Wondering about the how's and why's and if's and sometimes indulging in his own vivid imaginings, thinking of all the facets and shades and intricacies that Will, at his core, was and simultaneously was not. Wondering just what Will could and should do, and may not or would not want or be able to do or not do…on and on and on, over and over…

Hannibal had a continually growing desire to learn and know, and teach Will -if he would be permitted- all of the things he didn't yet know about himself.

Just as Hannibal had done, time and time again over the years, with _select_ patients who showed just the right potential to truly **be** whom they were meant to.

And with Will, Hannibal's interest was personified, because every detail of him was so intriguing, from each unique tell, every twitch, every action, reaction and moral inconsistency that Will denied he knew existed within himself. Hannibal wanted to _hold_ the essence of Will's mind in his hands. He wanted passage into Will's multi-faceted mind and his inconsistent rationale, he wanted to be able to take Will's mind apart and put it back together, to reconstruct and improve…the idea of it made Hannibal dangerously curious about Will's inner workings, of everything about him.

Everything…except for Will's actual personality, or lack thereof, because that was just a void.

Whoever Will had once been as a person was more than likely dead and buried within his subconscious.

But Hannibal was not one to judge someone for being jaded, apathetic or in Will's case, burdened and weighed down into abject, inescapable misery, by the gift/curse of true empathy, trying to hide from the blackened parts of his mind and yet stuck in there all the same, day and night.

And all the while, just barely managing to keep Hannibal out.

Will certainly didn't have it easy and yet he was formidable, at least for now.

Hannibal was patient.

He had seen peoples true colors, seen inside of and seen into so many people and patients over the years that he'd long since stopped expecting people to just reveal who they truly were without a little –unauthorized and unforgiving- encouragement and, for the lack any less blunt terms, vindictive sublimation, manipulation and unethical psychiatric practices.

More simply put, a careful and thorough mind-fuck.

Hannibal's slight smile extended into something wider, revealing his somewhat sinister delight as he experienced the so rarely felt anticipation of what was to come building within his person at the prospect of seeing Will that evening and thinking of what they might discuss. Would they talk about the _Chesapeake_ Ripper and the fact that said serial killer may be two different people? Because Will had had two days to come to that conclusion just as Hannibal had expected him to, so he _expected_ Will to bring it up and if he didn't, Hannibal would subtly lead Will into bringing it up.

Either way really, they would discuss it and Hannibal would watch Will fight to maintain his composure as Hannibal carefully, gradually slipped inside.

Hannibal had to commend Will though, even if only to himself, because Will was one of those people who, despite the fact that he was so obviously falling apart on the inside, finding a way in through that cracking exterior was a hell of a task, a challenge in and of itself but one that Hannibal would conquer. Just as he would conquer Will's _will_ –here he smiled to himself- and there would be blood, on his hands of course, but more to the point he intended to reach, there would be blood on Will's delicate hands, those hands that often shook even when clenched into fists.

There would be blood, someone's blood, anyone's.

And maybe a dinner party.

Hannibal buttoned his jacket as he turned to face the adequately lit space of his office, his eyes falling on the chair _Franklyn_ Froideveaux, a patient he'd had an appointment with earlier, had occupied last. Nearly an hour and a half later and Hannibal still managed to grimace at the memory of the patient he was quickly losing his patience with, and seeing as how he'd never had an interest in Franklyn and his simple mindedness, Hannibal was finding him less and less tolerable, an annoyance Hannibal could do to be rid of.

But he'd be seeing to that eventually, it was a situation to be dealt with at another time. He checked his wristwatch presently, because there was only ten minutes left before Will would arrive for his 7.30 PM appointment.

Hannibal walked out of the shadow that the upper floor cast, stopping once he came to stand at his desk and his eyes skimmed over the office again, his gaze trailing over the two opposite facing chairs allocated for sitting in during sessions and then to the large curtains spanning the length of his ceiling to floor windows. Hannibal had regretted setting the two chairs closer together earlier because he'd ended up sitting too close to _Franklyn, who did not recognize personal boundaries._

Hannibal had only moved the chairs because he wished to have Will sit closer to him that evening, the intention being to unnerve him while simultaneously creating an intimacy, a sort of privacy where their voices wouldn't have to be loud in order to hear one another speak. And also, Will would have the subconscious –stifling- awareness that while no one else could see him or hear him, at the same time, he was also just a little bit trapped there with Hannibal.

Hannibal expected that Will's heart and mind would race, his palms would sweat and he'd start to fidget and clutch the armrests of the chair in a way he'd hope isn't noticeable. His voice would become strained as he forced it from his throat and there'd be an underlying tremor in every word. His vision wouldn't be clear enough, even through his spectacles, and he'd expect Hannibal not to know what he was feeling, but Hannibal would know and he'd sit, he'd keep talking to Will, keep twisting words and asking and suggesting things of death, blood and murderous intentions about a killer that Will hated, understood and _envied_. A killer that Hannibal was behind and inside of. And Hannibal would smell it in the air, not just Will's unease and inner panic, but also his physical illness, permeating the room the more stressed he became and making Will weake-…

The idea struck Hannibal suddenly just as he sat down and he paused for a second to appreciate the convenience of it before he tapped at his tablet computer, unlocking it and habitually making his way to Freddie Lounds' website, TattleCrime dot com. He was only half interested in what she had to write about since he was distracted by the new realization he'd had that he could use Will's worsening Encephalitis to his advantage, he could use it to properly get inside of Will's head.

Hannibal was getting a little bit of an excited thrill at the thought of how much easier Will would be to manipulate under those circumstances.

He focused his attention on the website after a moment and as expected, Freddie had posted some predictable reporting on the latest victims of the _Chesapeake_ Ripper as well as the other –idiot- amateur killer who was running around removing peoples organs and making a mess wherever he went. Amusing as it was, it was a mess never the less. Hannibal saw it as a waste of good meat, really.

He was just about to set his tablet down and close his web browser when something in his bookmarked news pages caught his eye.

Hannibal blinked slowly and tapped on the headline.

It was a newspaper feed from Georgia, specifically in King County.

It read: **Wife of Local Sheriff's Deputy, Brutally Murdered**

Hannibal clicked on the 'Read More' link as his curiosity was slightly piqued.

The murder had apparently taken place early hours of that morning.

The write up stated that Lori Grimes (32), wife of a Sheriff's Deputy, Rick Grimes, had been murdered in cold blood, right in her home. Hannibal skimmed the article, reading the key statements; ' _stabbed multiple times', 'asphyxiated', 'further investigation underway', 'police suspect someone close to her', 'alleged extramarital affair', 'no suspects in custody', 'husband refuses to comment'_ and finally the question of _'was it a crime of passion?'_

Hannibal raised an eyebrow slightly, wondering to himself if it was in fact a crime of passion. It would be typical.

In situations like the one written about before him, it was often the spouse who was guilty. If Mrs. Grimes had in fact been having an affair, being the wife of a man who was a law enforcer –a profession notoriously known for inciting spontaneous familial murders- and having said husband find out that she was letting the pool boy, friendly neighbor or maybe even a close male friend have his merry way with her while Mr. Grimes was out serving and protecting, it would certainly inspire murder.

Hannibal had killed people for less.

But then, a cop –unless he was a total moron- would not violently murder his wife by stabbing and suffocating her, statistically it would have been more likely that he would have shot her and staged a robbery or he would have staged a suicide.

Of course, statistics didn't account for _everyone_ , perhaps Mr. Grimes just hadn't had the foresight to plan his murder better…or maybe he had, perhaps he'd cleverly thought to pin the murder on the man sleeping with his wife.

The latter scenario seemed more likely, since Hannibal saw no other reason for the article mentioning the 'extramarital affair'. That wasn't something typically divulged to the public, especially not when it came to a public authority figure, where in a _small_ town like King County he would certainly be well known to everyone.

Such a small town, indeed.

King County in Georgia was so insignificant in the grand scheme of things that Hannibal assumed that the article probably only came up because he occasionally read news coming out of Atlanta and King County just happened to be nearby. And Hannibal himself had only been curious to read it because a few years ago…about five and a half give or take a few months, had had a patient who only ever came to see him once a month, and that particular –interesting- patient had mentioned King County in every single session they'd had together.

From that, Hannibal had gotten the impression that the man could have lived in King County but didn't want to say so for whatever reason. But he'd dismissed the likelihood of that because King County was almost an 11 hour drive from Baltimore, and even though the patient only came in once a month, making the drive of that distance each time somewhat plausible, Hannibal just hadn't seen it as likely.

But Hannibal had wondered about that patient for a few weeks after he'd just abruptly stopped coming to see him for therapy, all ties of their Doctor/Patient contact had been cut without any reason given and Hannibal had simply never seen him again, which he'd found to be somewhat of a pity. Because while that patient had been nothing so interesting as someone like Will Graham, he had been interesting in his own way, in a memorable way.

He'd been hesitantly _forthcoming_ but never truly honest, he'd been passive in his demeanor and yet the depth of his anger and discomfort had been present in his eyes. Hannibal had sensed a proclivity for violence in him but also an acute awareness that he needed to keep a steady handle on it, keep it concealed, hence the reason he'd sought out the 'recommended and well-known Dr. Hannibal Lecter.'

When Hannibal thought about it now, the name he knew the man by may not even have been his _actual_ name.

"Hm." Hannibal made the noise unconsciously as he closed the article, thinking about his former patient who was somewhere out there, with an unhealthy amount of anger and instability boiling beneath the surface.

There was no picture of Rick Grimes in the article and no mention of his age…making Hannibal wonder whether he may actually be Hannibal's former patient.

Hannibal wondered then just where on her body Lori Grimes had been stabbed and with what kind of knife, and he wondered whether it had been done by her 'lover'. Had she been murdered out of anger or sadness or because she'd deserved it? And if it had been her husband's doing, had Mr. Grimes found the feeling of sinking a knife into not so easily yielding flesh and muscle to be liberating or terrifying?

Did he feel guilt? Regret? Remorse?

Hannibal placed his tablet down as he considered what Will might think of the article.

Would he be able to construct a possible design for it?

He checked his watch.

It was 7.31 PM.

Hannibal stood up after placing his tablet back in his drawer, glancing around his office once more to make sure everything was in proper order, before he walked around his desk and toward the door that served as a private entrance for patients.

When Hannibal opened the door it was with a subtle smile, but it quickly faded when he found his waiting room empty and he realized that Will Graham was not there.

And that just didn't sit quite so well with him.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm now on [Tumblr](http://phenobarbitalfiction.tumblr.com/)  
> 


	2. Shane Walsh & His Anger Issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Lyrics used belong to Black Lab, a song entitled Burn Out  
> -I meant to upload this sooner but my proof reading often ends up being an entire rewrite. This wound up being six pages longer than it was when originally drafted.  
> -Please report any errors

* * *

**Approximately 24 hours earlier…**

* * *

Shane is just on his way out of the police station, literally only feet from the exit doors, when he hears his name yelled. He stops because he has to, it's work and it might be important, even though he rolls his eyes and mumbles a 'fuck' before he turned half way around, his boots squeaking on the scuffed parquet flooring,

"Yeah?" he grunted out at his colleague as she approached him, clenching his one hand around his empty coffee flask while holding his personal vehicle keys in the other.

He was annoyed because he'd only just come off a long shift and he'd been looking forward to going home, taking a hot shower, eating something and then having a few beers before he'd decide whether he wanted to turn in early and get some sleep or go out on that Thursday night. But now someone had something to tell him, calling after him, holding him up and he _knows_ it can't be good because they've been short staffed at the station over the last two weeks for funerals and sick kids and all that stuff Shane didn't have to worry about personally and it'd been affecting everyone in the office's time schedules.

Shane had been getting his fair share of shitty shifts and it was pissing him off. Hell, he hadn't slept properly in days as it was, not for more than a couple of hours at a time.

The female officer who'd called after him stopped a few feet away, she looked equally tired as she placed a hand on the grip of her gun holstered at her hip, purely out of habit.

It was a stance they'd all come to adopt after years of weapons training for the quick firearm draw,

"I can't get a hold of Rick, can you try him?" she asked, glancing around the quiet space of the police station reception area.

Shane blinked at her, once and then again before he glanced at the doors and then to his boots to avoid looking at her when he finally nodded and answered,

"Yeah, sure, for what?" he raised an eyebrow.

She made a face, one that came across as exasperation,

"Michaels can't fill the first half of his graveyard shift tonight, so Rick needs to stand in-…"

Shane snorted, cutting her off as he shook his head and sniffed,

"What's it this time, sick kid, broke down car, pet died…?"

She looked unimpressed as she told him,

"House fire."

Shane's eyes widened a fraction, thinking maybe he should take it seriously because someone could have been hurt…but then he just couldn't because she didn't look worried and he was tired and how fucking convenient was it that for the last three days he and Rick had been filling extra shifts for just about everyone?

So instead he clucked his tongue and took a step back,

"Let's hope they ain't understaffed down at K.C.F.D, huh." He started to turn around again as she managed a laugh and then waved him off,

"Get a hold of Rick, the shift is 8 PM to 2 AM." She informed him over her shoulder, walking away before he'd fully turned around.

Shane nodded even though she wouldn't see it and then he raised the back of his hand to his face, wiping it over his chin and making his keys jangle as his thoughts veered in the direction of just how badly he _didn't_ want to see Rick.

He sighed and shook his head after a moment of standing in the reception area staring blankly ahead before he turned around and walked straight at the exit, shoving one of the glass swinging doors open forcefully. He let out a huff once he was finally out of the station and outside in the cool evening Autumn weather.

He was wearing his uniform jacket so the slight chill in the air didn't faze him and as he walked by the row of patrol cruisers toward his truck, Shane pocketed his keys before he slipped his cellphone out of his uniform pants pocket, unlocking it and proceeding to speed dial Rick's number. He listened to it ring and ring, grating on his nerves, and it went on long enough that it got redirected to voicemail. Already annoyed, he cut the call and tried again and it continued to ring several times before going to voicemail again. Shane considered leaving a voice message as he listened to Rick's drawling voice recording telling him '… _I'll get back to you as soon as I can._ ' There was a loud beep following that and Shane cut the call again,

"…come on, man." He mumbled to himself, shaking his head as he checked the time on his phone. He saw that it was almost 6.00 PM, and he knew that if Rick didn't end up checking his messages for whatever reason, then the shift wouldn't get picked up…and Shane would probably get called back in to cover.

Fuck, he really didn't need this shit.

The idea to call Lori flashed in his mind and he glanced at his phone again, walking a little slower.

It was work related so it was a legitimate reason to call, although when he'd started to feel as if he needed a good reason to call Lori, he wasn't entirely sure. But it was probably around the time that he realized he had a thing for his best friend's wife, many, many months ago and he now felt totally guilty whenever he called or saw her without Rick knowing.

Shane sighed heavily when he finally reached his truck, mumbling 'whatever' at the same time as he tapped his way into his contact register and scrolled to find Lori's cell number. He took a second to look at her contact photo, feeling the usual stirring of anticipation and irritation that always came over him whenever he thought about her or saw her, and he clenched his jaw as he pressed the call button.

He placed his flask under his arm so he could get his keys out of his pocket and unlock his truck before he yanked the driver's side door open, closing it harder than necessary once he was seated inside with his cell phone pressed to his ear and Lori's number just continued to ring as he tossed his flask onto the passenger seat.

He sat there as it rang…and rang, just like Rick's phone had. Shane cut the call with an irritable grunt just when he heard it cut to voicemail and he dropped his phone between his thighs for the moment, starting his truck up and reversing out of the P.D parking lot. It was bad enough that he didn't want to speak to Rick right then, not really ever recently, but now when he actually needed to, he couldn't get a hold of him.

Shane shook his head as he drove into the evening traffic unnecessarily fast along the short, wide street and he laughed humorlessly to himself, the smile on his face entirely sarcastic as he considered where Rick might be,

' _He better not be with tha-…_ ' his thought was cut off when someone honked their horn loudly behind him because he'd cut into their lane without indicating. Shane forced down the urge to roll his window down and give them the finger, he always did his best not to let his temper get the better of him, so instead he just took a breath, ignored it and continued driving.

Only once he was nearing the intersection that would either take him away or toward Rick's neighborhood, did he pick his phone up again and that time he tried to call the house phone. Shane listened to it start to ring as he stopped at the traffic light but it went on that way without being answered for just as long as the cell numbers had and Shane was starting to get really annoyed –and a little concerned. He cut the call quickly when Rick and Lori's outdated 'happy married couple' voice recording started up, they _really_ needed to change that.

They weren't fooling anyone, especially not Shane.

With another sigh he slotted his phone into the cluttered console between the car seats and he gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, leaning back in his seat feeling resigned to what he had to do, he drove in the direction of Rick's neighborhood. He sat with his head inclined slightly downward, eyes focused on the road but his mind elsewhere, his jaw clenched and his other arm propped up, elbow on the car door as he rubbed a hand over his mouth slowly, distracted by his thoughts of Rick and Lori and _why_ the hell weren't they answering any calls?

Shane wasn't prone to worrying over Rick or Lori being unreachable, not right away and for no real reason, because no matter how bad things were, he was certain that their arguments would never turn violent because Lori was very passive aggressive and Rick just wasn't that kind of man. But then again, Shane had learned some things about Rick recently that made it a little harder to be sure he knew just what kind of man Rick _could_ be.

He dismissed that train of thought as he often did these days, not wanting to allow himself to start –too easily- loathing the man who had been his best friend since they'd been kids. But dismissing that thought didn't make room for anything more pleasant, because his mind went right back to wondering why Rick and Lori weren't answering their calls, and the thought that maybe…maybe they were doing the opposite of fighting, maybe getting along, maybe reconciling their differences… the thought of Rick apologizing –when he didn't deserve to be forgiven- and kissing Lori and her just going ahead and falling for Rick's bullshit sorry's and excuses…those thoughts angered him deeply and put a cold, heavy weight in his stomach.

Because it felt like betrayal in some strange –twisted- way.

He hated to think of Lori forgiving Rick, being with Rick again…being _touched_ by Rick again.

And there'd be nothing Shane could do to stop it, in the end Rick was _still_ her damn husband and he _hated_ that that was how it was.

Because while he loved Rick like a brother, probably always would on some level, the truth of the matter was that Rick hadn't done right by Lori, not for a long time. And Shane felt she deserved better, deserved truth and honesty and because he couldn't help what he felt for her, he didn't even want to, not even just to try, he now believed that he was the right one for Lori. He really did.

He knew he could make her happy and if she thought about it, really _thought_ about it, she'd know it too, he could be so much more to her than he currently was.

Shane grunted to himself at how complicated it all was, all the lies, all the secrets.

He felt the tension in his shoulders send an ache down his back as he took another turn, getting closer to the Grimes residence.

He rarely visited there anymore, not since he and Rick had had a falling out about three months earlier. These days he and Rick mostly only kept up 'best friend' appearances for the people at work, only to avoid the questions they'd ask if they knew he and Rick no longer saw eye to eye. And even their act was only barely believable most days, their greetings reduced to eye-contactless nods in one another's general direction before they'd go on to ignore each other, sometimes for the entire day, feigning being busy or distracted.

They hardy ever spoke anymore and if he was honest with himself, it genuinely bothered Shane that he and Rick were no longer friends…but even the mild feeling of loss he had for his longest kept friendship didn't make a difference in the end.

He just wasn't able to pretend to be okay with what Rick had done and was _still_ doing to Lori, behind Lori's back.

There were some things he also didn't approve of that Lori did, like the way she'd acted towards Rick, before they'd really started having problems, she'd always been sort of a bitch to him, always found more fault in him than she ever even tried to acknowledge when it came to his good points. But that no longer mattered now, since Rick had gone and fucked up so badly Shane felt she was completely justified because the things she did now and the way she acted these days were a direct result of Rick's wrong doings. Justifiable circumstances…

…because in the end, the fact was that Rick was having an affair and Lori _knew_ it.

Even if she hadn't been directly confronted with it like Shane –unfortunately- had and even though she had no evidence of it, she still knew it because Rick was getting worse and worse at hiding it.

Hell, these days he displayed it in his demeanor as if there was nothing wrong with it, often wearing a distracted, pleasant, personal smile that would come over his face whenever his phone beeped or rang, or when he was going to 'lunch' from work in too much of a hurry or when he was sitting and just thinking about _it_ , about his affair, he'd be smiling, eyes lit up.

And as far as Shane was concerned, because of that, because of what Rick was doing, _everything_ Lori did after the realization of Rick's infidelity had dawned on her, was justified, because Rick had set everything in motion and now they were all caught up in it.

Shane sometimes felt like just telling her what he knew, what he'd _witnessed_ , whenever he got to be alone with her he felt like just blurting out the dirty secret that Rick had asked, no, _begged_ him to keep. Every day he regretted keeping it from her, but he had promised Rick, his _best friend_ , that he wouldn't say anything. Although he'd made that promise when he'd still been stunned and confused and trying to process everything he'd witnessed _right after_ he'd caught Rick cheating on Lori…in their shared home, in their shared bed. Why had he promised to lie for Rick? It didn't make sense.

The entire situation made Shane sick to his stomach.

He shut his eyes briefly, for just a few seconds, as he drove, feeling nausea and regret and anxiousness knotting up in his stomach and chest as his hands slid over the steering wheel while it righted itself after a turn. The last turn into a familiar street, into the street Rick lived on. Shane glanced at his phone as he neared Rick's house, hoping he'd missed a call or would still get a returned call before he got there so that he wouldn't have to visit the Grimes'.

Usually he would have sucked it up and told himself that at least he'd get to see Lori, but he'd been having a bad day…a bad week actually and he felt a little off kilter. He honestly dreaded seeing both Rick and Lori right then.

Lori because she almost never looked happy and Shane couldn't stand the sight of it and Rick because the man seemed less and less able to _act_ like a good friend and husband as time drew on…as his affair continued, as he spent less and less time with Lori and more and more with the home wrecker he'd started banging six months earlier.

"…fucking asshole." Shane muttered bitterly, jaw clenching and unclenching and his hand doing likewise on the steering as he watched the road ahead of him, every muscle in his body tensing in anger when he thought about what he'd walked in on several weeks earlier.

It had been a day like any other really, Shane had woken up late on his day off, taken a few headache pills with his coffee and breakfast and then he'd spent his Saturday lazing around his apartment and when the afternoon came around he'd been randomly in the mood for beer and pizza and anything on the sports channel. And since Rick was always his go to person to hang out with, he always had been, Shane had grabbed a six pack of Budweiser's out of his fridge, gotten into his truck and taken a drive over, nothing but pizza topping options on his mind the entire drive over. He'd decided he didn't need to call Rick about visiting because Lori was out of town visiting her family and he expected he'd probably find Rick lazing around anyway, nothing unusual, nothing strange, nothing _interrupted._

If only it had been like any regular Saturday.

Shane regretted visiting Rick that day just as much as he was bitterly glad that it had played out the way it had, or else he'd never have _known_ , no matter how much it sickened him to know, for various reasons, not knowing would have been worse. And that didn't really make sense, because you couldn't regret not knowing something if you didn't know it. But the point was that Shane preferred knowing, even if he hated knowing it.

He saw Rick's house up ahead and he drove up to it, passing the driveway in favor of parking on the street. He glanced at Rick's gray Nissan Sentra where it was parked in the driveway beside the large tree in the yard. He guessed that Lori's car was probably in the garage. Shane pulled up to the curb at the front of the house…just as he'd done on that day three months ago.

He glanced at the house as he switched the truck off, taking a breath in the silence that came over the space as he noticed that a light was on in the house, even though it was still reasonably light outside, he could only just see the glow of it through the lounge window. Aside from the light being on and it being later in the day, the scene was almost exactly as it had been _that_ day. Rick's car had been the only one in the driveway just as it was presently and the house had seemed quiet, like no one was home…and Shane had just let himself in, as he'd done hundreds of times before, because he was like family and he'd always been welcome, even after Rick had gotten married a few years ago.

But that day hadn't been like usual and walking into the silent, medium sized suburban house had felt different than other times. The air had seemed so still, there had been no excess noise, no appliances running, no street noise filtering in and with the house walls being so thin, Shane had been unable to even _pretend_ as if he didn't hear the moans, the skin slapping sounds, the heavy breathing, the breathy huffs and subtle creaks of mattress springs…all of the telltale sounds of _sex_.

He remembered that his first instinct had been to leave, something in his mind logically telling him that Lori must have returned home early and her and Rick were together, just around the corner, down the hall, inside their bedroom…fucking. His stomach had turned even back then, before things had really changed, before Rick and Lori really fell apart and before Lori and himself had become closer, because even then Shane had had feelings for Rick's wife.

But back then he'd respected –despite envying- their relationship and so he'd turned to leave the house. But in those steps he'd taken as he made his way back to the door, several things had occurred to Shane, several things that had been out of place.

Lori's coat had been missing, her hand bag too, both items absent from the coat hanger, and also her shoes which she'd always had a habit of removing at the door were not there.

Those were habitual things that she always did, things that Rick sometimes complained irritated him because she insisted on it, she was a bit of a neat freak that way. Noticing that had led Shane to do a once over of the main room and it occurred to him that while Lori never left doors unlocked if no one was there to attend any visitors, the door hadn't been locked. Then he'd spotted a black leather jacket hanging over the back of one of the dining room chairs, and aside from the fact that Lori hated clothes laying around, neither she nor Rick owned a leather jacket that Shane had ever seen.

Shane had stared at the leather jacket as his frown deepened and confusion and worry had bloomed in his stomach even more so when he'd realized it was a man's jacket.

As he sat in his truck staring at the house, he felt sick just like he did every time he thought about that day. He vividly remembered throwing manners and caution to the wind when he'd registered the lack of a feminine voice, sound, sigh or moan coming from down the hall and he'd absently said Rick's name aloud when he'd strode, six pack still in hand, headlong into the house, into the hall, in a sudden fit of anger, shock, revulsion and disbelief.

He'd heard the sound of a curse when he'd taken the corner into the hall, Rick's voice, and it had not been said quietly, angry and breathy definitely, but not quiet. Then there'd been the sounds of rushed, heavy footfalls on the wooden floorboards as Shane had stridden down the hall toward Rick's halfway closed bedroom door. He'd intended to bound straight in but Rick had intercepted him just short of him being able to see into the room, stating his name loudly in question –obviously frustrated- as he'd fallen into the hallway and pulled the door nearly closed behind himself. Shane had stopped walking less than a meter away, blinking and frowning in confusion at Rick's utterly flustered and disheveled state.

Rick had been near naked, skin sheened with sweat and flushed, blotchy red lines and patches had been on his shoulders, on his neck, around his lips. He'd been breathing heavily and his arousal had been tenting inside the pair of wrinkled boxer shorts he'd been wearing, which had been blatantly stained at the front with wetness that Shane had known could only be one thing. Shane's stomach had overturned once and then again when he'd noted that the boxers were askew on Rick's narrow waist as if they'd just been pulled on in a hurry, which had been exactly the case at the time. Rick's hair, which was usually gelled back, had been untidy, his tight curls sticking up in many places, looking for all the world as if someone had been running their fingers through it, gripping it, pulling it...and shit, it had knocked Shane out of his shock induced daze when he'd realized that _someone_ had probably been doing just that.

Because Rick had been having sex with someone.

Shane unclenched his fists as he looked away from the house and he picked his phone up before he opened his door and stepped out of his truck, his stomach roiling with anger and disgust as the memory replayed in his head as it often did whenever he saw Rick or thought about the man he'd foolishly believed Rick to be. He sniffed idly as he shut his door and then crossed the curb, taking the first set of stone steps in two strides as he tried to dispel the image of what he'd seen that day, especially after he'd shoved Rick out of the way and pushed the bedroom door open.

Shane despised the memory of seeing someone naked in Rick's bed who had not been Rick's wife, that much was sure, but he'd been angrier and nauseated by the fact that it hadn't even been a fucking _woman_.

Being that as it was, Shane had already suspected that when he'd first seen the jacket and heard the gruff sex sounds. Still, he hadn't wanted to _actually_ believe it.

He clutched his phone and car keys in a vice grip as he strode up the concrete path of the yard to the porch steps, remembering how he'd been too repulsed and shocked to do anything in that moment. In hindsight, he wished he'd gone further into the bedroom and punched the bastard who had been sitting in Rick and Lori's bed…especially since the fucker had had the nerve to look unconcerned and unashamed as Shane had stared at him, had started to sputter but had been unable to form actual words as he'd glanced from Rick to the rumpled bed and its _male_ occupant.

That _prick_ in Rick's bed had been Daryl Dixon.

Shane had learned his name after Rick had grabbed his dumbstruck form and dragged him bodily down the hall _away_ from the bedroom, pushing and shoving him all the way into the living room before he'd immediately started to beg Shane to _calm down_ and _listen._ Shane had felt sort of shell-shocked and the numbness which had set in quickly morphed into anger. He'd been furious and shaking within seconds and he'd immediately tried to take a step around Rick, he'd wanted to _strangle_ that fucker lying in Rick's bed, but Rick had shoved him down onto the sofa and stood over him. He'd been shaking as well.

Shane had forced himself to calm down when Rick had again begged him to listen.

 _'_ _Listen Shane, please, please, just…you don't understand, alright, let me explain…'_

Rick's voice had been shaking and he'd seemed desperate and so Shane had taken deep breaths and slumped back onto Rick's sofa and he'd listened to his –then- best friend's explanation of ' _my marriage has been on the rocks for a while now_ ', ' _Lori's cold, Lori's frigid, Lori hardly even talks to me._ ' And then when Shane had cast a quizzical, clearly disturbed glance and a hand gesture towards the hallway and asked just what Rick thought he was doing with a **man** ** _,_** because despite all the questions he'd had, that one had been on his mind first and foremost, Rick had taken a few seconds before he'd went ahead and answered.

' _His name is Daryl, alright, Shane, Daryl Dixon_ ', Rick had smiled weakly and then laughed humorlessly, suddenly looking too thin and too pale and so exhausted as he'd said , ' _I don't care that he's a man, he makes me happy, that's what I care about_ '.

And maybe that was why Shane had kept the secret for Rick…maybe it had been because of the sincerity in his voice?

There'd been further explanation after that, Rick had thrown around words like **need him** and **want him** and **understand** and **please, please, please don't tell** her **,** don't tell **Lori** , don't tell **my** **wife**. And Shane had just stared in disbelief, numb again as he'd asked ' _how Rick, how and when_ _did this happen_?' with a confused frown and he'd only just managed to repress his fury as Rick had told him that he'd met Daryl a few _months_ earlier.

It had apparently been when Rick and Lori were going through one of their rougher patches, and they'd been trying to make things better in their marriage. Rick had said Lori decided she wanted the entire house repainted inside and out, to make a change, for a new start, something fresh. She'd said and said and nagged and insisted and so Rick had eventually agreed. After that they'd hired someone local, someone who came recommended by word of mouth as being reasonably priced, someone who did odd various jobs at odd hours if you needed, like house repairs, carpentry, painting etc. Basically a freelance artisan.

Daryl fucking Dixon.

Rick had went on to explain that it had taken Daryl a month and a few days to paint the entire house, he'd worked alone and in varying shifts and he'd taken his time, he'd done a great job and all of it at a decent, fair pay rate. And somehow –Shane just didn't understand it- in that time Rick had apparently gotten to know Daryl better and very personally. Rick hadn't even used the word 'friends' at any point, the story had just gone right ahead into descriptions of 'attraction' and 'feelings', where there'd apparently been new lines drawn in front of Rick, blatantly and boldly tempting him to step over them.

And Shane had known without being told, that it had been Daryl who had to have purposely brought Rick's attention to those previously _invisible_ lines, probably seductively posing ideas of bisexuality and experimentation, sly and shrewd in his pursuit of a straight man like Rick, probably did it often enough to know what worked and what didn't. Shane honestly didn't get how Rick could say that he liked how blue Daryl's eyes were, or see why Rick liked Daryl's smile so much, he just knew that _Daryl_ had tempted Rick to cross those lines by making himself available to Rick during a vulnerable time in Rick's life and marriage. And despite Shane's utter confusion as to how it was even possible, Rick had apparently ended up wanting nothing more than to fuck Daryl Dixon in all the ways gays could fuck one another.

Well, Rick hadn't said it that way, but that's how Shane saw it.

He hadn't even seen or heard Daryl leave the house that day, Daryl hadn't even taken his jacket, all Shane knew was that he hadn't been there by the time Rick had done _explaining_ himself twenty minutes later and Rick hadn't seemed surprised to find him gone.

Shane had spent many hours of his days thinking about it in the beginning, trying to understand it, but in the end he just couldn't. As far as he'd been concerned for a long time, it had all just been about sex and Rick's confusion with his sexuality because Rick had said nothing about love, nothing sweet, nothing about enjoying Daryl's company as a _person_ , he'd just sounded totally and completely lust drunk.

But recently, as he'd watched Rick change and distance himself from everyone at work and especially from Lori, Shane had to assume that things had become more serious with how Rick felt about Daryl. Because Rick never smiled at Lori anymore, probably didn't ever think about her, he never called Lori from work either, not even to argue. But he did make personal calls every day, calls that he felt the need to take in private most times and Shane just knew it was Daryl every time, in every instance.

He knew Rick's smile these days was for the man he was sleeping with and never for his wife.

And then there were also more and more weekends that Lori would call and tell Shane about how, ' _Rick's visiting friends_ ', ' _going out to bars_ ' or ' _taking long drives and turning his cellphone off_ ', all the time just making excuses and reasons to not be at home basically.

And Shane couldn't stand it.

One thing at least was that Lori no longer sounded hurt by it, just resigned, and Shane liked to think his presence in her life was the reason for that.

He sighed presently as he stood at the Grimes' front door, he'd been standing there for a good ten minutes, distracted by his thoughts, but he didn't think he should waste any more time stalling, it'd be better to just get it over with. Shane rubbed a hand over his forehead, a flash of thought going through his mind about Rick and Lori getting a _divorce_.

They needed it…and Shane wanted it.

He took in a deep breath and he slipped his phone into his pants pocket when he realized his palms had started to sweat and steam up the screen. He was uncomfortable and he was tired and he didn't feel good with all the stress and emotions that worked up in him whenever he saw Rick or Lori. After he pocketed his keys as well, Shane raised a tense fist to knock on the white panel door, hesitating only a second before he rapped audibly on the wood. He stepped back from the door afterward and turned to face the darkening street, placing his hands on his hips as he looked over the quiet neighborhood from where he stood on the porch waiting.

He hadn't noticed it at first, but after a minute passed without anyone coming to the door Shane frowned and turned back to face the door, once again noting how still everything seemed. He glanced at the neighbor's house, then at the street again before he took a step forward and rapped louder on the door. It was then that he heard muffled harsh voices and as someone came closer to the door, it got louder until it was identifiable as yelling.

Instantly Shane became twice as uncomfortable and tense because it was apparent now that the unhappy couple was arguing, again. Shane placed a hand on the back of his neck when he heard the sound of the door handle being gripped, tightly and roughly enough to make the door shake slightly before the door was yanked open and Shane was faced with Rick, looking angry and tense.

He frowned at Shane and tipped his head to the side, might have been a greeting, more than likely was a frustrated tick,

"Shane." He said in a quiet, unfriendly tone which didn't surprise Shane since Rick hadn't been happy to see him even once since the day he caught Rick cheating.

"Uh, hey…" Shane said awkwardly as he slipped his hands into his jacket pockets and his eyes darted from Rick to the open doorway as he spoke, "…I tried to call, no one ans-…."

"Are you ignoring me now? **Really Rick**?" Lori's voice cut him off as she came around the corner of the hall quickly, her long brown hair swinging with the force of it, "You started thi-…" she stopped abruptly when she spotted Shane, letting out a huff and crossing her arms over her chest, looking awkward. Her face was red and her delicate hands were clenched into fists as she regarded Shane with wide eyes.

Her cheeks became just a little redder after seeing him there, but Rick didn't notice even as he glanced at her before he turned around and stalked into the house, toward the living room.

He never noticed anything about Lori anymore, he didn't even seem to see how beautiful she was when Shane found it hard to take his eyes off of her.

"Shane," she said on a short breath, her eyes tracking Rick as he walked away, "I didn't…even hear the doorbell." She barely managed to force a smile when she looked at him again and brushed her open hair back from her face.

"He knocked," Rick stated loudly from the living room and Shane quickly tore his eyes away from staring at Lori and opened his mouth to explain why he was there, but Lori spoke first, quickly striding in Rick's direction for some reason as Shane watched her go,

"No, Rick…dammit, what the hell are you doing?" she asked irritably, trying to keep her voice low.

Shane was left standing at the open door and he shook his head, glancing from the sight of Lori going to grab Rick's arm and then to his feet, uncertain of whether to go or stay.

"I'm going out, Lori." Rick said shortly and Shane took a step inside, watching as Lori followed Rick around the living room with a frustrated statement of his name and despite telling himself to leave, Shane did the opposite, stepping further inside and shutting the door behind himself.

"We're _talking_ and you're just going to walk out." She said to him, voice getting harsher and less patient, "You can't run away, Rick, not from me and not from what you're doing." Her eyes were wider now as she shook her head at him, angrier than Shane had ever seen her, especially as Rick ignored her and pocketed a set of keys, his wallet…

Shane clenched his jaw as his anger rose up, watching Lori follow Rick around like that really upset him.

"I know you're cheating on me!" Lori said suddenly, stopping Rick's attempt to walk around her and making Shane's heartbeat speed up, "and I don't _understand_ why you won't just admit it, it's not like it'd shock me." she stated firmly, her tone severe and confident.

Shane almost couldn't believe he was present for this particular confrontation.

He'd imagined it so many times in his head and it always ended with Lori in his arms when it was over.

Was that crazy? That he wanted that so badly?

Rick stared at Lori for a moment and then he spotted Shane where he had stopped in the open doorway of the living room and for a second Rick's eyes seemed darker, almost threatening, warning Shane to keep his mouth shut, because Shane knew about the affair and he knew _why_ Rick wouldn't admit it.

Because he was fucking another man and he didn't have the balls to tell Lori that.

Shane just glared right back.

Rick looked at Lori again and narrowed his eyes,

"All I asked was if you were going out tonight, Lori, I don't know how that got you started on accusing me of cheating." Rick said in his lower tone, one that wasn't as calm as it seemed and Shane knew that Rick was pissed off, he knew that tone well.

Rick moved to step around Lori again and she only became angrier at his avoidance and dismissal,

"Because I'm _not_ the idiot you think I am," she shoved Rick back with her hands to his chest and Shane watched Rick clench his jaw, but she didn't let up, she stayed right in his space, right there in his face, antagonizing him purposely as she shoved him again, "I know you were asking because you _hoped_ I wouldn't be around so you could bring your little slut here to fuck her!" she shoved him another time, harsher, her eyes wide but her breathing strangely steady.

Rick raised his arm suddenly and Shane tensed and panicked, not even aware that he'd been subconsciously worried that Rick might physically hurt Lori until right that moment when he thought it was actually going to happen.

But then all Rick did was run his hand over his face and up into his hair,

"Move, Lori." He glanced at Shane…or maybe at the doorway, Shane couldn't tell.

Lori narrowed her eyes, folded her arms across her chest and shook her head,

"No, not until you admit it."

Rick's gaze became wary as it settled on her,

"Why? Is that what you do, Lori?" he raised an eyebrow and leaned in a little closer, staring straight into her eyes, "Do you bring the guy you're fucking here whenever I'm out?"

Lori slapped him lightning fast and the tension in the air became almost suffocating.

Rick's eyes never left hers, even as his cheek started to turn red, he was staring her down and slowly starting to smile…because he saw the guilt on her face as plain as day and Lori's sudden, unprovoked act of melodramatic indignity was the clincher.

Shane had paled at the same time as Lori did, and his stomach did a quick flip when Rick laughed once, harshly, spitefully, his eyes flitting briefly to Shane before he leaned in closer to her again to say,

"You thought I didn't know you were sleeping with someone else? Apparently _you_ think _I'm_ stupid." He stopped smiling and then walked around and away from her and she didn't move to stop him.

His car keys jangled loudly, filling the silence as he walked toward and by Shane without even sparing him a glance.

Lori turned after him, opening her mouth to say something but then she spotted Shane standing there and her mouth closed quickly. Shane held her wide eyed gaze when it settled on him and he watched her swallow tensely, recognized the guilt she felt over Rick's accusation by the soft shine forming in her eyes and Shane felt his own guilt start to unsettle his stomach. There were too many lies and too many secrets.

Lori blinked when they both heard the door open and her eyes shifted beyond Shane, her gaze turning into a glare as it settled on Rick.

Shane turned around to see that Rick had pulled a jacket on and when Shane looked at Lori again, she suddenly seemed calm,

"I want a divorce." She said stonily.

Shane's eyes widened as he stared at her, his heartbeat speeding up again.

She didn't look at him though, so he turned around to look at Rick, who stood stock still with his hand on the handle of the open door, ready to 'go out'. Probably to go and see Daryl.

Fuck, it pissed Shane off so bad.

Rick seemed tense as he breathed evenly, his shoulders rising and falling just noticeably and he was frowning, almost as if he didn't like that idea and Shane couldn't understand _why_. Because how could he possibly still love Lori when he spent so much time with Daryl, smiling for Daryl, fucking Daryl?

Rick took a breath and tilted his head slightly before he looked at her again and then his dark blue eyes shifted to Shane,

"You came here for a reason?" it was a question, even though it was said in a tone of 'whatever you came to say, spit it the fuck out now'.

"Jesus..." Lori muttered out in a breathy tone and Shane heard her sniffle, then glanced at her to see her fidget, brushing her hair back from her face irritably as Rick ignored her and she glared bitterly at him.

Shane cleared his throat when he looked at Rick again, Rick who was looking at him expectantly,

"Change of shifts, you're on 8 to 2 tonight." Shane said gruffly, fists clenched as he dipped his head and looked at Rick with just a bit of contempt because of how he was ignoring Lori's important statement.

Rick seemed content to continue lying and dragging this mess out and why the hell wouldn't he give her the divorce if she wanted it?

Shane was tempted to ask, but it wasn't his place and he didn't want to upset Lori.

As if to make the point that he wouldn't be acknowledging Lori, Rick walked out without even looking at Lori again and she yelled his name just once before the door was shut calmly after his exit.

"I can't…believe…" Lori was saying to herself in huffs and Shane turned to face her, watching as she pursed her lips and glanced at him, blinking rapidly, tears starting to gather in her eyes quickly as her breathing increased, her emotions overwhelming her.

Shane quickly walked to her and put his arms around her and at first she seemed to lean in to him but then she tensed and he felt her pushing him back, her hands on his chest. Although he didn't want to, because it felt right to hold her and she needed him to be there for her, especially now, Shane reeled in his irritation and took a step back.

Lori stared at him with wet eyes, one of her hands still on his chest,

"I'm sorry, just go," she looked away from him and lowered her hand, "right now, I need…" she sniffed and swallowed thickly as she quickly wiped a hand over her mouth and then ran her fingers under her eyes, "…I need to be alone. I need time to think." She vaguely gestured to the door with a shaking hand.

Shane felt hurt by her asking him to leave, and his hurt always became anger too quickly. He clenched his jaw as he nodded stiffly and started to back up, suppressing the urge to take her in his arms and hold onto her until she gave in. Why didn't she get that he could be there for her through everything? Even her divorce…especially her divorce.

But she clearly didn't want that right then because she glanced from him to the door pointedly when he stopped backing up, so Shane nodded again and cleared his throat before he walked away, forcing himself not to look back and slamming the door behind him after he let himself out.

As he took wide strides down the path to his car, his boots scuffing noisily on the concrete, he vaguely wondered if Lori would lock the door since she seemed to be in quite a state right then and he didn't know if she would remember to. He didn't go back to tell her though, he just wanted to take a breather and calm down right then, especially after he glanced over at the spot where Rick's car had been before, but was now gone.

Shane stopped at his truck and frowned to himself when it occurred to him that Rick hadn't told him to leave when he'd first showed up, instead he'd left the door open like an invitation even though he and Lori had been having a very personal argument. It seemed suspicious to Shane, it seemed as if Rick had wanted him to hear the accusations they'd spat at each other about cheating.

Shane glanced at the house a final time before he pulled the driver's door open and got into his truck, closing himself into the sanctity of his car. His nerves were a little rattled with misplaced excitement and hope by what had just happened, Lori having asked for a divorce, finally.

But Rick…Rick, despite his ongoing affair, didn't seem to want to let her go.

She was finally doing the right thing and yet Rick was being stubborn about it. It didn't make sense.

Shane licked his lips slowly as he thought back to Lori's tears right after saying she wanted a divorce. Had that been uncertainty?

' _Am I reading it wrong?_ ' he frowned.

Maybe there was a reason Rick just hadn't bothered to take her seriously, since he had seemed more annoyed than shocked…so maybe this wasn't the first time that Lori had asked for a divorce, maybe she did it often and then took it back?

That idea only pissed Shane off worse and he grunted as he dug into his jacket pocket for his car keys before he placed the key in the ignition and started his truck up. He pulled away from the curb after an unnecessarily loud rev of his engine. In the back of his mind he considered coming back later to check on Lori after she'd had some time alone, just to see if she was alright, just to see her…just…to have a little time alone with her and to maybe find out if she was serious about that divorce.

With a sniff at his own pathetic neediness and fluctuating emotions, Shane swiped his thumb over his nose and then leaned back in his seat, trying to calm himself down, trying not to think about Lori for at least a little while.

But he knew, he knew that he loved her, that he had for a long time, before all of this even got started, and that it wasn't going away.

If only her and Rick weren't together anymore, then things could be how they should be.

Shane gripped the steering wheel tightly as the thought echoed in his head…

If only.

* * *

Shane headed in the direction of the nearest convenience store after leaving Rick's house, because he was hungry and tired and running on fumes and in a bad, bad mood. He hadn't eaten at lunch and he didn't have much in the way of food at his apartment, so there'd be nothing to go home to and he figured he should pick himself up something easy and quick for supper instead of having to eat stale bread or go hungry all night.

He turned onto the necessary road and before long he was driving up to a familiar gas station with a convenience store, one that he and Rick often stopped in at during their lunch breaks, or at least they had done so in the past, not anymore. The place had a great deli though, small as it was, their pies, subs and sandwiches were always fresh.

In was actually something he was looking forward to…and that was just sad.

Shane cruised at a slower pace as he drove through a vacant gas fill space and then he pulled into the first parking he saw available at the side of the store, in between two other cars. He switched the truck off, made sure he had his wallet and then got out, locking the truck as he started to walk away toward the store entrance.

Shane was just thinking that maybe his night would be better than his day had, but then he glanced up at the sound of someone shutting a car door and Shane slowed first and then stopped walking completely when he recognized the truck that had just pulled in at the pumps. Shane's breathing increased as his eyes settled on the old two-tone 77' Ford F150…the truck that belonged to none other than Daryl Dixon.

Shane had checked him out on their police system, he'd even committed Daryl's license plate number to memory.

And suddenly he felt like the town was far too small, too small in general and too small for himself, Rick and Daryl to live in simultaneously.

At one point Shane had even considered moving away just after he'd learned that Rick was sleeping with a man. It felt like his world had been tossed into some surreal shit storm and it had seemed like the smartest idea, especially when he thought about the fact that one day he might just run Dixon down in the street if he ever had the opportunity and he was in a bad enough mood.

Shane watched Daryl get out of his truck and walk around to the gas pumps and he took a deep breath to calm down as he remembered that time a few years earlier when he'd taken time off work, he'd visited another city to get away from familiar faces. It had been after he'd killed his first armed perp while out seeing to a robbery that had been called in. He'd been showing signs of anger instability more noticeably after that day and his department had given him time off, they'd told him to get some therapy for his post-traumatic state, to take a sabbatical and see someone about his anger problems.

Shane had taken it seriously and had gone out of town for a while and it had been nice there, maybe he'd go back…just so that he didn't murder Daryl Dixon.

He took a step toward the store entrance, trying his best to ignore Daryl where the man stood pumping gas into his truck, but when Shane saw that Daryl was leaning against his car with his head down, one hand on the fuel hose and the other typing on his cell phone, focused and distracted, the first thing that came to his mind was that Daryl was probably texting with Rick. That thought made his blood boil, to think of Lori sitting at home alone, crying, while Daryl sent kissy face emoticons and whatever the fuck else he and Rick texted about all the time.

Shane felt his pulse thump in his veins as he took the first steps in Daryl's direction.

He'd seen Daryl around several times, they both knew each other by face since that day at Rick's house, but they'd never said a word to one another, not once. Shane would always just glare and Daryl would look disinterested or mildly annoyed whenever they crossed paths and that had been it.

But right then Shane felt compelled to tell Daryl exactly what a piece of shit he was, he wanted to _hurt_ Daryl somehow.

Shane was approaching the other man steadily before he'd even fully thought it through, glaring with every ounce of his detest as he glanced over the length of Daryl's unimpressive form. He was clothed in baggy black jeans that somehow still made his legs look skinny, worn with an olive green wife-beater that clung to his torso and a scuffed pair of black boots. His short brown hair was unkempt, his skin was too fair for someone who lived in Georgia's climate and everything, just everything about him rubbed Shane the wrong way.

Daryl had just mounted the hose back on the pump by the time Shane came up behind him and grabbed his shoulder roughly, turning Daryl around and shoving him back first against his truck with a loud thump as he came to stand in his most intimidating stance less than a foot in front of the younger man.

"What the hell-…" Daryl started to say but then he cut himself off when he recognized Shane, and to his credit and Shane's increasing ire, Daryl honestly didn't seem even remotely intimidated or surprised. He did raise an eyebrow and clench his jaw as he leaned his weight back against his truck, "…oh, s'you." he said with indifference that Shane only usually saw in his expression but had never before heard in Daryl's voice.

Daryl's voice was gruffer than Shane expected and that surprised him.

"Yeah, it's _me_ ," Shane leaned in, getting in Daryl's face, "and I'm getting tired of seeing you around, you sleazy, home wrecking, cock chasing little bitch." Shane went right for it with more than enough anger injected into those words, each insult punctuated right in Daryl's face as Shane completely forgot about all of his anger management steps as if they'd never even existed.

Daryl remained passive, only narrowing his blue eyes –that Rick liked so much for some fucked up reason- at Shane.

If he was offended by Shane's insults, he didn't really show it aside from his jaw clenching again and his –somewhat impressive- musculature, visible beneath the wife-beater tank shirt, noticeably tensing as Daryl gave Shane a slow once over,

"Been wantin' to say that to me for a while, huh?" he sounded vaguely amused which only pissed Shane off more.

"I have a whole lot to say to you, Dixon," Shane stepped in so that he and Daryl were nearly chest to chest and nose to nose, "but right now I'm having trouble keeping myself from fucking you up." He practically growled, meaning every word.

That time, with Shane so close, Daryl's expression hardened and he met Shane's glare dead on as he stood off the truck and he and Shane were now literally nose to nose,

"I don't see nobody stoppin' ya' from tryin'." He said it without humor or fear, unblinking.

Shane tensed up, clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles popped and he inhaled and then exhaled shakily,

"…you ain't even worth the prison time," Shane said coldly but also absently noted that Daryl didn't have a hint of femininity about him, and it annoyed him so badly that he just had to say, "faggot." with a healthy amount of disgust in his tone.

For stereotypical reasons, Shane had just assumed that Daryl would be some kind of fairy, at least subtly if not obviously, because that was the only kind of gay he'd ever come across. But there Daryl stood, well built, voice gruff, accent southern and ready for a confrontation with Shane, who would kick the shit out of him, feminine or not, if only given the chance.

Still, Daryl didn't falter, standing his ground in a way that surprised Shane but also made the urge to punch him in his _pretty-boy_ face twice as urgent.

Daryl being manlier than expected didn't change a thing anyway, it didn't change that Daryl was making Lori miserable and had ruined Shane's friendship with Rick. It did however, complicate Shane's disapproval of Rick's sexual preference choices, since Daryl not being an effeminate gay meant that Rick might actually have always been homosexually inclined to be so attracted to another _normal_ man, in which case, how could Rick be happy with Lori?

It didn't justify anything Rick had done though.

"Whatever," Daryl said dismissively, his eyes flitting over Shane's face disinterestedly, "if ya' ain't gon' do nothin' but talk shit then back the fuck off m-…"

Shane shoved Daryl against the truck again, cutting him off and taking up two fistfuls of his tank shirt to hold him there,

"Why don't you take your slutty ass and leave King County, nobody'll miss you and you can find some other dick to suck, huh?" Shane dug his knuckles into Daryl's chest as he pressed him against the truck firmly.

Daryl's hands remained at his sides, his cellphone clutched in one, as his eyes bore into Shane's,

"Ya' want me to leave, make me." He said with a smirk.

Shane clenched his jaw so hard it hurt,

"Just leave Rick alone…man," Shane took a breath before he ground out, "you don't know what you're causing, you don't know how _she's_ hurting knowing that Rick's going behind her back with someone." Shane gave Daryl a contemptuous once over.

Daryl's expression eased back into neutrality, as if what Shane had said made him loose interest,

"That ain't my problem, _man_ ," he mocked Shane's use of the word, not raising his voice even a bit as he leaned forward so close that Shane could smell smoke on his breath, "I ain't doin' nothin' wrong, I'm not married, I don't owe no one a damn thing…" he said calmly and Shane just stared at him with pure hate, "…means I can fuck or _suck_ whoever I want." Daryl blinked slowly and glanced down at Shane's white knuckled fists, "Now get your fuckin' hands offa' me."

Shane heard the threat in Daryl's voice in those last words, it was the first discernible change of intonation he'd made so far, and Shane was tempted to do many things in response, the main option involved being _very_ violent and would result in Daryl being very _dead_.

But they were in public, people were standing around and staring at them as it was, so killing Daryl right then wouldn't be smart, it wouldn't achieve anything except landing Shane in the slammer for life.

Literally shaking with anger, Shane slowly let go of Daryl's shirt and in the back of his fucked up mind he couldn't help comparing Daryl's fucked up moral compass to his own. Neither of them were good men, they were both only looking at getting what they wanted, Shane wanted Lori and Daryl wanted Rick.

He clenched his jaw as he stepped back from Daryl and after a moment of staring one another down, Shane decided he needed to hit something, so he slammed his fist into the truck door beside Daryl, leaving a dent in it.

Daryl didn't flinch and Shane didn't feel any better, so before he put his fist into Daryl's face, Shane backed up and then turned around and instead of bothering about getting food, he headed back to his truck, a few staring people quickly moving out of his way as he strode, having decided that he'd get some hot chips at a bar where he could get lots of _alcohol._

* * *

_ _


	3. Daryl Dixon & His Extreme Lack Of Integrity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- This chapter has NC17 male/male content, sensitive readers please tread lightly

* * *

Daryl remained leaning against his truck as Shane backed away from him, slowly turning around before he stalked off without looking back. He tracked Shane with his eyes, watching every furious, heavy step the larger built man took across the parking area. Daryl wasn't the only one staring by the time Shane had slammed himself into his truck and reversed, streaking loudly out of the small gas station, a few cars honking loudly at him as he entered the traffic abruptly.

Only once Shane's vehicle had disappeared from sight did Daryl slide his eyes to the dent in his truck door. He regarded it for a moment, considering whether he should be upset about it, but then he pushed himself off the door and decided that the old truck, which had formerly belonged to Merle, was in an overall shit state anyway, the dent didn't make it look better or worse really.

Absently Daryl tugged at his tank shirt to neaten it and it was then that he noticed a few people were still staring at him. He ignored them, sliding his cellphone into his pocket and walking toward and into the entrance of the gas station store, extracting his wallet from his jeans back pocket as he approached the counter. The day clerk was familiar, a twenty something brunette with dark blue eyes who worked there on a regular basis, she smiled sweetly,

"Hey, Daryl." She greeted, her southern accent rolling the 'r' and 'l' in his name.

Daryl stopped at the counter as he flipped his wallet open, glancing at her and returning the smile,

"Hey." He thumbed through his cash.

"The usual?" she asked, still smiling in an obviously flirtatious way.

"Yeah." He answered as he took out the necessary amount of money for his usual gas refill amount and a little extra. She nodded and then turned to the register to ring up the gas first,

"So…is everything okay?" she ventured, probably having seen what happened out by the pumps and when Daryl glanced at her she vaguely gestured toward the gas pumps as if he didn't know what she was asking about. Daryl just nodded and placed the money down on the counter between them.

"Oh, alright, good." she nodded back before turning around to reach for his usual single pack of king size L&M reds off the display wall and Daryl watched her,

"…make it two packsa' smokes." He added and she glanced at him before reaching for another pack and then she stepped back to the counter and looked at Daryl awkwardly, especially awkward since he kept his eyes on her,

"What was his problem anyway?" she shifted on her feet, trying to sound casual and not nosy as she placed the packs one on top of the other and picked up the cash, "Did you sleep with his girlfriend or something?" she laughed awkwardly as she cashed up and placed the money in the till.

She was fishing for info, and Daryl wondered if she'd recognized Shane. Suddenly, amused at the idea that she might even know both Shane and Rick as well as she knew him, he bobbed his eyebrows and smirked,

"Nah'…" he took his change from her, "…his best friend." Daryl said quite seriously.

She blinked at him a few times, nearly frowning until she must have assumed he was joking and then she started giggling,

"…you're so bad, Daryl." She smiled flirtatiously again, ever incorrigible.

Daryl had pocketed his wallet after putting his change away and as he picked his cigarettes up he winked at her,

"See ya' on Monday for the usual, Susie." He said with just the right amount of southern accented niceness to make her blush before he walked away and out of the store, dropping his smile just about the second he was outside.

He approached his truck, glancing around idly as he ripped the seal off one pack of cigarettes and tapped one out. Daryl placed the cigarette he'd taken out between his lips when he reached his truck, pulling his driver's door open, getting in and shutting it in one quick motion. Once inside he leaned over and put the sealed pack of smokes in the cubby, his eyes very briefly settling on the firearm inside before he shut the compartment again. He also had a shotgun under the seat, both guns were licensed and legal and no good for shooting someone with just for getting in his face, because as Shane had said, it wouldn't be worth the prison time. Besides, threatening someone with a gun for being a general dick-bag was Merle's style, not Daryl's.

Daryl tossed the opened cigarette pack onto his dashboard and then shifted in his seat to get his lighter out of his pocket, along with his cellphone. After he lit up his smoke, he inhaled from it and slid his thumb across the screen of his phone to unlock it, continuing to answer the message he'd received earlier, having been interrupted by Shane before he'd been able to complete it.

He had just tapped send when his phone blipped and a new message from Rick came up, Daryl opened it and stared at his screen for a few seconds, it read, ' _At your place, need to see you, will you be back soon?'._ He removed his cigarette from his lips and licked them before he typed a quick reply, ' _On my way back, 10 minutes'_ and then he dropped his phone into his lap, started up his truck and drove out of the gas station, entering the evening traffic.

Daryl smoked with one hand and drove with the other as he thought about his confrontation with Shane and the man's words about how much Daryl was hurting 'her'.

He considered those words, allowed them to sink in as he pictured 'her', Lori Grimes, clearly in his mind.

Daryl knew Rick's wife, he knew her well actually, having been in the Grimes house nearly every day for more than a month back when he'd been repainting it. He and Lori had gotten along fairly well in that time and Daryl wouldn't deny that he liked her, she wasn't too nice or sweet, like most southern women aimed to be, rather she was straightforward and a little mean, which were not bad traits as far as Daryl was concerned.

Still, he had meant it when he told Shane that it wasn't his problem, he was not responsible for the state of Rick's marriage or for any infidelity taking place within it, he was only party to it.

After all, Rick was a grown, consenting man and he had carte blanche over everything he chose to do, and if that just happened to be Daryl, then it was what it was.

Daryl didn't feel bad about it, he didn't feel anything about it really, he honestly hadn't even thought about it until Shane brought it up, Shane who was probably hot for Rick's wife. And it hadn't been Shane's general concern with her unhappiness that gave it away, no, for Daryl it had been hearing the underlying pain and emotion in his voice when he'd said it. There'd been too many personal feelings inflected in Shane's tone. He was so obvious, it was pathetic.

Daryl smirked and shook his head, taking a last long drag on his cigarette and raising an eyebrow as he turned into the next necessary street on his way back to his apartment, thinking of all the times he had been sent filthy looks by Shane, on a fairly regular basis, any and every time they'd seen one another in the small town of King County. Ever since that first time Shane had seen Daryl in Rick's bed, he'd always looked like he wanted to explode when he crossed paths with Daryl. Whether Shane was cruising by in his police vehicle or taking a walk, or stopping at a traffic light, maybe buying groceries at the local supermarket, if Daryl just happened to be there, Shane would send every look of despise, resentment and disgust that he could muster Daryl's way.

Those looks never bothered Daryl, it hadn't even bothered him when Shane had called him slutty and a faggot, because those were just useless words, and Daryl had never cared much for people who talked too much. To Shane's credit though, the insults had held so much more conviction when the words were actually spoken to his face as opposed to every time they'd been glared at Daryl via hateful eye contact. The whole thing had been unexpected actually, since it was the first time Shane had ever actually approached him and spoken to –at- him directly and the level of contempt in his voice had been pretty intense.

Daryl snorted quietly as he flicked his cigarette filter out of the open window and his eyes narrowed due to the headlights of the oncoming cars since it had become properly dark outside by that time. His thoughts remained on his confrontation with Shane, but now he was looking at it from a different perspective, thinking of his received messages and contemplating Shane's over the top anger and then his weak attempt at morally reasoning with Daryl, it seemed likely that something had happened just prior to them both ending up at the gas station, as if it'd just been a 'wrong place, wrong time' sort of scenario.

Could it possibly have been an argument? Maybe between Shane and Rick, or Rick and Lori…or maybe Shane and Lori? Maybe between all three of them?

The fact alone that Rick was asking to see Daryl on a Thursday evening, which wasn't one of their regularly arranged days to hook up, meant something had happened, something was out of place. And if something happened, it would explain Shane's sudden need to confront Daryl, he'd probably decided that whatever took place was somehow Daryl's fault.

Hell, Shane had the logic of a child if he thought he could blame Daryl for Rick choosing to cheat on his wife.

Daryl indicated as he took a final turn into the neighborhood he lived in, it was nothing quite as nice as where Rick lived, but many steps up from the piece of shit 'house' Daryl had grown up in at the outskirts of King County, so he had no complaints. His apartment had all the necessities, functional plumbing, clean running water, hot and cold, proper furniture and basic appliances and even a few personal luxuries that Daryl had accumulated over the years, ever since he'd gotten his life together.

It also saved him on gas money since the apartment wasn't far from the gas station, the supermarket…or Rick's neighborhood, or the Police Station…well it wasn't the largest town and so it was kind of hard to be very far away from anything…or anyone. There were pros and cons to that, like all things in life, the good with the bad, the bitter with the sweet, the close knit community and the occasional feeling of claustrophobia.

Thinking of claustrophobia, Daryl was reminded of the first time he'd met Rick and Lori when he'd been called out to their house, they'd wanted to hire him to paint it and he'd needed to see the size of it so he could quote them. And from the moment he'd first met them, they'd never seemed like a happy couple, they'd both looked uncomfortable, as if they didn't want to be around one another but they'd been trapped in the confined space of their marriage. Still were, actually.

They'd both smiled at him as they'd taken him on a walkthrough of the house, and Daryl had only needed eyes to see that they'd smiled nicer and more believably at him than they had whenever they'd glanced at or talked to each other, and that was only in between their obvious _avoidance_ to look at or talk to one another. Daryl had seen the strain in their relationship immediately, both of them had been pathetic at hiding it, pretending to still be in love and lying about it to each other.

Daryl had taken the job, it had been easy work with no specific deadline and good pay. So he'd started working there according to his own hours, just as long as they were not inconvenient for the Grimes', they had no problem with it. And in the beginning, Rick and Lori had put up their best pretend happiness around him, but it only took three days before they'd been unable to help arguing while Daryl was in the house and though they'd tried to do it quietly, those pretty suburban houses didn't have the best sound insulating walls. So Daryl had been able to hear them fight about many things over the time he was there, from problems with extended family, to money, to trivial domestic nonsense, cliché statements thrown at one another, like 'you never listen' and 'why do I put up with this', 'why do you have to be so stubborn' and sometimes, only sometimes, Rick would leave the house angrily and Daryl would hear Lori crying in the master bedroom.

It hadn't been his business or his problem though and Daryl had easily stayed out of it, in fact he'd become bored with listening to them after the first week and had considered buying an iPod so he could tune them out during his work days.

And then randomly, one time after Daryl had finished working for the day, still wearing his paint stained jeans and an old faded plaid sleeveless shirt, with a few paint smudges on his arms and probably his face too, Rick had appeared in the doorway of the newly peach coloured bathroom and offered Daryl a beer. He'd asked if Daryl wanted to stick around and watch whatever game was on with him. It had been a Friday afternoon and Lori had gone out somewhere. Daryl had immediately assumed Rick was probably just looking for company, guessed that couples with couples for friends didn't have many single buddies to sit around and drink beer with.

Still, he'd accepted, thinking it might be interesting since Rick didn't seem like a bad guy.

So they'd drank Rick's awful beer and ended up watching a television movie rerun instead, conversing pleasantly at random intervals about asinine things.

That experience had been a little weird for Daryl but it had also been a game changer, because Daryl had spent those few hours getting to know Rick…and he'd taken a liking to him. That development had made Daryl look at Rick _differently_ , and since he'd already seen the many, many empty spaces in Rick's tenuous farce of a marriage, he became interested in filling a specific few of them. And Daryl was not –never had been- the sort of guy to back off from pursuing someone he liked based on a wedding ring, or rehearsed vows said before a god Daryl didn't believe in…not since he was fourteen and his father had beat him so violently that he'd had a seizure.

Daryl didn't care for empty words, unreliable feelings and magical belief systems, he preferred actions and real, tangible, raw moments, everything that was 'here and now', physical, actual, effectual. In Rick's case, his loneliness, weakness and neediness had been real, blatant, tactile...and Daryl wouldn't deny that he'd taken advantage of that.

After that first time, Daryl and Rick had started 'hanging out' outside of the work Daryl was doing at the Grimes' more and more often and while it hadn't been a secret per say, Daryl had noticed that Rick never wanted Lori to know and Daryl hadn't had a problem with that, he still didn't. It was less complicated that way.

Just as it had been less complicated for Daryl not to tell Rick that Lori had gotten drunk and complained to him about Rick and their marriage one afternoon when Rick had been at work…

Daryl blinked out of his thoughts when he arrived at the three story apartment block, turning into the open parking area and he raised an eyebrow, rubbing his fingers over his mouth absently, when he spotted Rick's sedan parked out on the street. Daryl parked off in his designated spot, switched the engine off and removed the key from the ignition before he rolled the window up, grabbed his cigarettes off the dash, phone out of his lap and got out. He glanced up at his second floor apartment windows as he started walking slowly toward the entrance, his thoughts resuming, he recalled that it had started with Lori talking to him about vague things and asking him vague personal questions while he'd been working. And so he'd talked to her, since he never had anything against her, not then and not now.

He'd answered her general questions about his free-lance work, whether he was married or had any kids and Daryl returned the questions, making conversation, he'd asked about her family, about why she didn't work, about whether she wanted kids. They'd both only answered what they were comfortable answering, and while at the start Lori had avoided mentioning Rick, by the early afternoon she'd been long since indulging in a bottle of red wine and she hadn't held back on the personal details after that.

Daryl had been painting the living room at the time and Lori had been sitting moodily on the couch when she'd randomly stated that her marriage was falling apart. From there she'd started in, telling Daryl that Rick didn't want kids and that she'd started to feel like it was too late to have any anyway, she said she felt old, wasted, she talked about how it'd been months since her and Rick had slept together, said she wasn't even sure she wanted him to touch her anymore. She went on to accuse Rick of being a liar, claiming that he kept things from her, complaining that he didn't communicate with her, that he treated her like a burden. She'd even said that she didn't love him anymore and then contradicted herself over the next glass of wine, while Daryl was painting the skirting board –amused by the fact that the paint fumes were not helping her case- that she still loved Rick.

When she'd started to look too emotional, Daryl had suggested she go outside to get some fresh air and he'd helped her outside onto the porch, where she'd sat until he'd been done working. Then when he'd been about to leave she'd apologized for her behavior and thanked him. After that, they'd also gotten to know each other better and Daryl had decided that she wasn't so bad either, when sober at least.

It seemed like as a couple, her and Rick just brought out the worst in one another and there was no way a situation like that would ever end well.

And none of that made a difference to Daryl anyway, it hadn't stopped him from being a 'home wrecker', as Shane had so eloquently put it. He knew he was the biggest part of Rick and Lori's problems these days but Daryl couldn't bring himself to feel bad about it, he just couldn't because he just didn't. In fact, he liked what he had, he liked the way things were, he liked sex with no strings attached, a particular convenience of sleeping with someone who was married, and he intended to keep it that way.

Daryl arrived on the second floor after ascending the stairs and he walked along the open hallway to the door of his corner apartment, flipping his small mixed key set over in his hand before he realized he wouldn't need it. Because Rick was definitely inside, he hadn't been sitting in his car and Daryl had given Rick a spare key two months earlier for convenience purposes. More for Daryl's convenience than Rick's, since Daryl didn't like having to get out of bed after sex to lock up after Rick left, or to rush back to his apartment from wherever he was if Rick came around earlier than scheduled, or like right then, when not scheduled at all.

Daryl assumed correctly, because the door was unlocked when he turned the handle down and pushed it open, stepping inside and glancing around his small bachelor's apartment. His eyes fell on Rick, who stood up from sitting on the sofa when he heard Daryl come in. Daryl raised his eyebrow when he looked properly at Rick, noticing the obvious exhaustion on his face and in his slack posture, but Daryl didn't comment, he just smiled at the other man as he closed the door.

"Rick, unexpected visit, ya' alright?" he greeted and asked neutrally, the question was sort of necessary since Rick had texted that he needed to talk, implying that something was wrong or just upsetting him, so you know, it was polite and whatever.

Daryl leaned against the wall just inside the door and started to pull his feet out of his loosely laced boots, toes to heels, tug and tug and then he kicked his boots aside so they fell over on one another as Rick walked over to him.

Rick stopped just a foot away, looking tense as he nodded first and then tipped his head to suggest 'maybe not' as he looked over the length of Daryl's body almost absently. Daryl returned the look, noticing that Rick was dressed down in worn jeans and a faded T-shirt, apparently having come over in a hurry because usually Rick liked to get a little dressed up to see him. He didn't mind the change though, he wasn't much for fanfare, as long as Rick was clean and smelled good, Daryl was good with that.

He noticed Rick was hesitant to make a move on him, just standing there, hands at his sides, looking thin and pasty and so obviously wanting to reach out to Daryl, but he was still uncertain of himself. Of the six or so months they'd known one another, about five of those had been spent sleeping together and yet Rick was still cautious and hesitant when it came to initiating contact. It annoyed Daryl sometimes, and he knew it was probably a result of the man living with a frigid –that was Rick's choice word, not Daryl's- wife, but it didn't annoy Daryl enough that he didn't want Rick around. Rick was sexy as all hell when he was horny and he had impressive _stamina_ , which was always a plus.

Daryl smiled slowly at his own thoughts, but directed the smile at Rick as he pushed away from the wall and just slightly leaned in toward Rick, which often and right then was enough to prompt Rick into action. Rick, who moved smooth and easy and sexy once he got past his worries of a physical rebuff, immediately stepped into Daryl, taking his desired liberties which consisted of his slender, soft hands coming up to hold either side of Daryl's neck, fingernails lightly scraping over Daryl's skin as Rick kissed him on a shaky exhale, tuning Daryl into the fact that Rick's emotions were running high.

Daryl was wary of that, he didn't like _consoling_ people _,_ it was tedious.

But he couldn't just put Rick on a timeout like he'd done with Lori that time.

So Daryl leaned into it, the kiss starting from a brief sliding of lips into the sliding of tongues, Rick's licking firmly and slowly into Daryl's mouth just as soon as he welcomed it. Rick arched his lean body just enough for their fronts to be touching, kissing Daryl deeper after a moment, tilting his head and sliding his hands off Daryl's neck, shifting so that his arms came up to loop around Daryl's neck instead.

Daryl reciprocated encouragingly once he started getting into it, always open to a little necking…or a lot of necking, depending on the circumstances. He pressed his body against Rick's, raising his hands to slide them down the older man's flanks and he was just about to take his kisses and teeth to Rick's neat, crisply bearded jawline when Rick drew back and opened his eyes tiredly. Daryl had opened his own quicker, licking his lips irritably after the loss of contact, and he saw Rick blink sluggishly, obviously weary and Daryl guessed that it was due to a lack of sleep and his mounting personal problems.

They breathed against each other's mouths for a few seconds and then Rick smiled against Daryl's lips before and after quick, _chaste_ little kisses, keeping Daryl's face close in the circle of his arms,

"I missed you." He said softly and sincerely and while it wasn't the first time Rick had said something like that, it usually came with his hands removing Daryl's clothes.

But this…this was not that.

Daryl went with it though, raising an eyebrow and smirking against Rick's mouth,

"Yeah? Good." he said huskily and kissed Rick again, but his own kiss was far more heated.

Because Rick was there, even though he wasn't supposed to be, and that meant sex was on the table, and Daryl liked sex. He really did.

But Rick wasn't kissing back with the same enthusiasm, and every time Daryl tried to turn the kiss rougher or wetter or raunchier, Rick didn't respond the same way, he just kept on tonguing into Daryl's mouth languorously, even as he un-circled his arms and started messing up Daryl's short hair with his _massaging_ fingers.

And then he drew back _again_ and Daryl followed his mouth until their lips parted with a soft smack. Daryl subtly clenched his jaw as he opened his eyes to see Rick's frowning face, his dark blue eyes filled with weariness,

"Lori said she wants a divorce." He said quietly.

Daryl blinked slowly and licked his lips as he stared at Rick, who held his gaze, hands now settled on Daryl's waist and he seemed to be looking for something from Daryl's expression, probably sympathy, or maybe even just basic interest. Daryl cleared his throat and reeled in the heat that had been gradually building in his body before he took a step back, turning casually and walking toward his kitchen, which was open plan to the lounge,

"Ain't the first time she's brought it up." He reminded, aware of Rick watching him as he walked to his fridge and retrieved two beers, Heineken, not that Budweiser shit that Rick usually drank.

Rick had previously told him about Lori's constant mentions of divorce so Daryl pointed it out, because he didn't get what was so Important about it this time.

"I know," Rick sighed and rubbed a hand briefly across his frowning forehead, "but this time…this time she outright said it." Rick clarified as Daryl walked from the kitchen into the lounge, carrying the beers in one hand, the bottle necks between his fingers, "She didn't hint or imply or threaten it this time, she said 'I want a divorce'." Rick shook his head and pressed his fingers into his eyes before he followed Daryl toward the couch.

Daryl watched Rick approach after he stopped and stood just behind the two seat sofa, leaning against it and while he didn't want to be having this conversation, it was already happening so Daryl went along with it,

"You want a divorce?" he asked straight out, holding out the second beer to Rick once he was in reaching distance.

Rick glanced at the beer and shook his head as he walked by Daryl and then around the couch to sit down, mumbling something about having a night shift in an hour. Daryl lowered the second bottle as he listened to Rick sigh heavily and then he turned around and watched as Rick ran a hand through his tight, flattened curls, untidying them further,

"I don't know," Rick responded, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees, "maybe…" he mumbled and then turned half way around to look at Daryl, staring right into his eyes and Daryl held his gaze, "…what do you think? You're a part of this too." He said as he placed a hand on the back of the couch and squeezed the old brown cushion.

 _'_ _Am I?'_ Daryl thought uninterestedly as he glanced at Rick's glinting gold wedding band, and then he shook his head and turned the cap off his beer to open it, taking a slow walk around the couch, but to the opposite side of where Rick sat,

"Ain't my decision to make." He answered flatly before taking a sip of his beer.

Daryl then placed the second bottle down on the small coffee table followed by the bottle cap.

Rick followed Daryl's movements with his eyes and when Daryl sat down on the armrest of the couch he faced Rick and brought one lean denim clad leg up, bent at the knee and he placed his black socked foot on the seat of the couch, keeping his other foot on the floor as he watched Rick watching him…Rick's gaze drifting absently to Daryl's legs due to the spread angle of them,

"I- I think it is…" Rick said quietly and licked his lips as Daryl started to sway his bent up leg from side to side slowly, purposely, suppressing a smirk at Rick's wandering gaze, "…I mean," Rick blinked rapidly then and with some effort he forced his eyes up to Daryl's, "would you want that…would you want to be serious with me?" Rick asked seriously, his tone slightly raspy.

Daryl didn't stop swaying his leg, he just kept watching Rick as he sipped his beer again and considered whether he should bother lighting up a cigarette, especially if the conversation was going to be long. And since Rick had to go to work, Daryl figured they probably wouldn't have time to fuck either.

So they'd talk, not fuck and then Rick would leave?

Daryl raised an eyebrow in mild irritation as he leaned over to the side, placing his beer down on the table and he was about to maneuver for his cigarettes and lighter in his pocket when Rick started to look twice as antsy, probably because Daryl wasn't answering him,

"I…I could leave her…for you." Rick confessed quietly, tone uncertain as he shifted nearer on the couch, close enough so that he could place his hand on Daryl's foot and then slide it up slowly, almost like a caress, before he held Daryl's ankle lightly.

Daryl stared at him, a number of things going through his mind as he absorbed what Rick had just said. Rick was suggesting divorcing his wife for Daryl…and that was _not_ something he was interested in, that would be messy and full of drama and complications.

Daryl licked his lips slowly and shifted just enough to get his cigarettes and lighter out,

"Do ya' think she wants to divorce you for whoever she's fucking?" he changed the subject, asking the question outright because Rick had recently confided in him that he more than just suspected that Lori was sleeping with someone else.

Rick frowned at him, his hand sliding a little further up Daryl's ankle, his cool fingers slipping inside the bunched up length of the sock, touching Daryl's skin in a way that certainly _wasn't_ sexual and it was frustrating him.

After a few quiet seconds of staring Rick nodded,

"Yeah, yeah, I think so," he glanced at the blank television screen and Daryl tapped a cigarette out of his pack, placing it between his lips as he waited for Rick to go on, "she said it right after I told her I knew she was sleeping with someone else, so probably." Rick admitted with a clenching jaw before he pressed his face into his free hand and took a deep breath.

Daryl stared at Rick, rolling the cigarette along the parted line of his dry lips using his tongue. As he re-pocketed his cigarettes and lighter, he trailed his eyes over the side profile of Rick's form, from his untidy hair that tangled so well in Daryl's fingers, down over his fair neck and along the curved line of his clothed back, all the way down to the hem of his jeans that sat low on his waist, so much so that his T-shirt didn't cover a sliver of skin and the peeking navy blue waistband of Rick's plaid boxer shorts.

Daryl felt himself becoming impatient…and horny, but he let his mind briefly wander to Lori and the fact that she might be going ahead and leaving Rick soon, more so, with finality. Daryl tried to think of an upside to Rick getting a divorce. While Daryl didn't want to be serious with Rick, or anybody else, he figured he'd probably get to fuck Rick more often…but still, that pro didn't outweigh the many cons. There'd be scorned lovers and spouses and months of whining and fighting and complaining, and then what if Rick started seeing white picket fences and domesticity between the two of them?

While that was sweet and everything, and Rick certainly showed signs of being a closet romantic who liked sweet stuff, to Daryl it just sounded like a huge pain. For Rick and for Lori...and definitely for himself.

Affairs were messy, divorce was messier.

And Daryl didn't do domesticity.

Daryl didn't want those kinds of problems in his life, a serious lover, a serious relationship, 'love' and cuddles and rainbows of affection...jealousy, possession, expectation, lies, fighting and so on and so forth. That wasn't what he'd wanted out of the deal with Rick, Daryl chose non-committal sex because he liked it that way and Rick getting divorced was not going to become his problem.

Rick had brought this on himself, he was the one that had stood by and let Daryl kiss him that first time, to start this whole thing up, he'd let it escalate to touch and taste and sex and now every lie and betrayal was Rick's burden to bare. Daryl didn't care that he was selfish or insensitive, people made decisions, and decisions set things in motion, and there were always consequences to consider. And Rick had set their affair in motion when he'd accepted Daryl's advances. Even Lori was responsible for her own decisions in her bad marriage.

They all had a part in this, but not the same part.

Even Shane was involved. After all, Rick was certain that Shane was the one Lori was fucking.

Daryl played a smirk off by continuing to roll his cigarette along his bottom lip when he thought of how angry Shane had been earlier, angry that Lori was being hurt. Yes, Shane had something to hide and it definitely involved Lori. What a mess, indeed.

He noticed then that Rick was frowning at him, watching him and while Daryl had hoped Rick might eventually just give up and drop the subject, it seemed like it wasn't over yet, so Daryl removed his cigarette from his lips and shrugged,

"She mighta' just been pissed off." He offered, turning his lighter over in his hand so it was right side up before clicking the starter to light the flame.

"She's _always_ pissed off." Rick said exasperatedly, then sighed wearily as he placed his head back in his hand and there was a moment of silence, in which Daryl lit his cigarette, smoked from it and filled his immediate air with clouds of gray-white smoke, which he watched filter up, visibly shifting and thinning out in the artificial glow of the overhead lounge light. When Rick's hand on his ankle squeezed gently, Daryl dropped his eyes to meet the other pair of darker blue and he watched as Rick nodded, "But you might be right, she might have just been saying something she doesn't mean, she does that all the time."

 _'_ _That's better.'_ Daryl thought as he raised an eyebrow and fiddled with his lit cigarette between his fingers.

Daryl wasn't sure what finally made Rick draw the conversation to a close, but it was good, since all the talk about being 'serious' had been getting on his nerves. He watched as Rick sat in deep thought, probably trying to figure out how his fucked up marriage could survive another day but Daryl was becoming bored of Rick's brooding, so he waited another minute until he was down to the filter of his cigarette and then he stood up and dropped it into the open bottle of beer.

Rick looked up when Daryl had stood and now he stared as Daryl reached back and pulled his tank shirt up and over his head, tossing it onto the couch and watching as Rick's eyes failed to stay focused on his face or his mind on his problems. Daryl stepped nearer then and climbed on top of Rick, who sat back to make room for Daryl to settle, legs astride his lap and then Daryl leaned in and started pressing moist kisses to the side of Rick's neck.

Rick made a low humming noise, his hands immediately skirting over Daryl's naked back as Daryl's hand slid between Rick's long, muscled legs, moving upward along the inside of his jean clad thighs until he was cupping Rick's crotch and palming at his cock through the denim to get it up quicker.

Rick leaned his head back, giving Daryl access to kiss –and lick- at his neck as he shivered under Daryl's touches. Daryl was just about to take two handfuls of Rick's hair into his grip and ravish his mouth with a rough kiss…but then Rick spoke, all soft and desperate sounding,

"Why do you put up with it, Daryl, with the fact that I'm married?" he asked.

Daryl let out a long suffering sigh, getting fed up with being _interrupted_ by Rick's marriage problems.

He drew back from Rick's neck, rolling his eyes shortly and because all of his blood rushing south made him less tolerant of self-invasive sob stories, he decided to deal with Rick's whining a different way.

Daryl got off Rick's lap and stood up, making Rick sit forward quickly and grab his hips, about to open his mouth again and probably apologize, so Daryl cut him off by stepping backwards out of Rick's hold as he started to unbuckle his belt, a smirk stealing across his face,

"I put up with it because I like how you fuck me..." Daryl said what was actually an honest reply, and he said it with just the right amount of sex in his voice just before he zipped his belt out of the loops, "…so why don't we go to the bedroom and I'll let ya' do just that." He offered as he dropped the belt on the floor.

Rick blinked at him, a little dazed and then stood up as he smiled a smile that was _adorable_ and _affectionate_ and probably could stop hearts. Daryl smiled back, pleased that he was finally getting his way, and then he turned and walked toward his bedroom, his heart steadily beating and Rick right behind him, already unfastening his belt.

* * *

Rick's hands were warmer now as they moved over Daryl's chest, pushing him backward toward the bed as they kissed heatedly, _finally_ , having at one another's mouths properly, tongues lapping, sucking and licking, their breathing deep and stuttered, their lips wet and reddening, swelling, tingling. Daryl pulled Rick's shirt up, fisting handfuls of the faded white material and yanking it off roughly, mussing Rick's hair even more.

Daryl licked his lips at the pleasant after taste of Rick's mouth on his own when Rick's kisses –his tongue trailing each peck- migrated along Daryl's jaw, then further down to his neck as Rick's hands explored the skin of Daryl's back, his arms, his sides, the rise of his ass beneath the low waistline of his jeans before coming back up and tangling into Daryl's hair. Daryl leaned his head back and exhaled a quiet sound of pleasure as Rick's mouth and hands moved over his body, Daryl's own deft fingers quickly starting to work the fastenings of Rick's jeans open until he was able to slip his hand inside and take a hold of Rick's stiff cock.

Rick moaned against Daryl's neck, his hands clenching, gripping, fingernails digging in, one hand on Daryl's ass and the other on his lower back. Daryl traced and stroked and squeezed Rick's sex, kissing Rick's mouth again, sucking his tongue into his mouth as Rick pressed into it, his fingers leaving red blotches on Daryl's fair skin as his hands started to roam again, daring to press, rub, knead and _really_ feel. His hesitation slipping away the more turned on he became and _that_ was what Daryl wanted, _that_ was the Rick he liked.

How Lori could choose not to let Rick fuck her, Daryl had no idea.

But then maybe it was the ' _who'_ Rick was fucking that made a difference.

Daryl felt the foot of the bed against the back of his legs and he sat down before moving backwards,

"Jeans." Daryl instructed breathily once he'd settled up near the pillows, raising his hips off the bed as Rick followed, crawling up between Daryl's legs. Rick balanced on the mattress with one hand, while his other hastily yanked at the button and zipper of Daryl's jeans. Rick then sat back on his legs and tugged the jeans down and together they removed the remainder of Daryl's clothes and then Rick's until they were completely naked, skin to skin, mouth to mouth, chest to chest, erections crossing and pressing and rubbing.

Daryl really liked Rick's body, long and lean and smooth and muscled in all the right places. He also liked the way Rick rolled his hips when they fucked, the way Rick tasted, his mouth usually sweet because of the fruity flavored gum he liked so much, his skin like sweat and citrusy soaps and his come tasted rich and salty.

Rick was a mixture of flavorful tastes and scents whereas Daryl was bitter, just natural musk and smoke and petrichor and it worked.

Daryl liked it, he liked it just the way it was. Rick and sex and everyway Daryl wanted it. Uncomplicated.

Rick moaned so gruffly it rumbled low in his throat as he began to press kisses to Daryl's naked skin, starting from a rough kiss to Daryl's mouth and then trailing down. Daryl hummed his approval as Rick kissed down over his chest, sucked and bit at his nipples and licked a line along the center of Daryl's abdomen, down…down…

Daryl arched up off the mattress, exhaling a moan and grinning as Rick started to suck his cock. He licked his lips slowly as he brought one hand up to rest behind his head so he could look down and watch Rick, his other hand gripping lightly into the older man's curly hair.

Daryl briefly shut his eyes from the pleasure of Rick's mouth on him, letting out a slow breath through his nose before inhaling again when Rick took him almost all the way in, his cock sliding into the back of Rick's throat in a way it had taken Rick sometime to get used to. And it was better, so much better than it had been in the beginning, before Rick had known what he was doing…but it still wasn't as good as it usually was because Rick seemed to be dragging it out, he was spending too much time sucking shallowly and slow.

Daryl spread his legs wider and drew them up either side of Rick's shoulders,

"Rick, mouth, fingers..." Daryl instructed and huffed out a half moan when Rick sucked up and off, their eyes meeting, "…ain't got all night." Daryl reminded the other man, not so much because Rick had to go to work - that wasn't Daryl's problem-, but because Daryl didn't like _slow_ sex.

"I know…" Rick's voice was all sexy and gravelly when he smiled and placed his hands on Daryl's inner thighs, kissing his way over Daryl's balls, maintaining eye contact, "…I'm just enjoying this."

Daryl raised an eyebrow and chose not to say anything, instead encouraging Rick to get back to it by pushing his head down just a bit.

Rick chuckled, apparently finding it amusing,

"Fingers or mouth?" he asked against Daryl's inner thigh before licking there.

Daryl wished he'd just _do_ instead of asking, usually once they were naked there wasn't _any_ talking at all, the last time Rick had talked so much was during the first few times they'd fucked and he hadn't known his elbow from Daryl's ass.

Daryl reeled his spitefulness in and smiled indulgently down at Rick, deciding to play nice,

" _Both_ …" he brought his hand from Rick's hair down to his mouth and touched his lips, "…eat me, Rick, and if ya' do it real good, I'll let you go in bareback." Daryl offered, grin just nicely filthy.

Rick blinked dazedly and then frowned,

"What's bareback?" he asked and Daryl half scoffed and half laughed at the fact that Rick couldn't _guess_ what that meant. Then again, back when Daryl had first asked him for rim job, Rick had asked what that was too. Suburban husband and wife sex was probably boring as fuck.

"Means' I'll let ya' fuck me without a condom…" Daryl explained before sighing and bringing his hand to his cock, starting to masturbate himself slowly, feeling impatient and annoyed by that point.

Daryl was actually starting to feel his interest slipping as he watched Rick absorb his words and raise an eyebrow slowly as they registered…but then Rick was _finally_ spurred into action, and then some, making Daryl's eyes roll shut when the wet heat of Rick's open mouth and eager tongue begun to work at his asshole.

Yesyesyesyes. That was _much_ better.

Daryl was more than a little hedonistic, and he knew it, when it came to sex, he wanted and wanted and _wanted._ He'd toned down a lot over the years though, because back when he'd been a teenager he'd been extremely promiscuous about it, he'd always liked sex in _all_ of its glory and he'd actively sought it out.

But now he was _somewhat_ more responsible about it. Nowadays he mostly managed to keep his sexual partners to one at a time…mostly.

Daryl moaned and moved his hips into Rick's ministrations, his toes curling into the mattress as pleasure overtook his previous annoyance. He really liked Rick's mouth…and tongue and fingers, long fingers, pretty red mouth, clever tongue…

Daryl squeezed his cock, moaning again as he held on to his control just barely, pleased by the fact that Rick always came so close to pushing him over, and over and over, always teetering on that edge, just where Daryl liked it best.

It took an intense – pleasurable- long minute before Rick had thoroughly slicked Daryl's asshole up, leaving him relaxed, loose and wet. He came away from Daryl with a kiss and bite here and a lick and suck there before wiping his hand over his wet mouth and he looked so horny and debauched that Daryl felt proud of himself. He grinned at Rick, showing his approval with a seductive smile. He enjoyed putting Rick through his paces, telling him to try things, do things, have things, and then Daryl would bask in the results. Like right then, being entirely ready for Rick to fuck him hard, fast and totally bare.

Rick leveled himself with Daryl and assaulted his mouth with a forceful kiss, positioning his hips between Daryl's thighs, no more questions asked, he lined up and pressed his cock into Daryl with preamble.

It was fucking excellent, hurting in a good way, and Daryl moaned a curse loudly into Rick's mouth just as they stopped kissing and just as Rick's cock was in all the way, thick and long and satisfying. But then the atmosphere shifted again and Daryl found himself looking up at Rick, who had stilled his body and was looking down at him with something beyond sexual desire.

Something more than lust for a warm body and a good fuck…no, the look Rick had in his eyes was _more_. It was significant, it was…

Daryl felt a shock, cold and sharp and distinctly unpleasant, as it moved through him at the realization that Rick might be in love with him, probably was with a look like that on his face. And how the hell did that happen?

No one Daryl ever fucked had fallen in love with him, or if they had, he'd never known, he'd never cared either.

"Daryl." Rick breathed out, said Daryl's name with an affectionate smile as he leaned down and pressed a sappy kiss to Daryl's lips, soft and lingering. His hips remained stationary as he leaned on both of his forearms either side of Daryl's head and wound his fingers into Daryl's hair before he drew back just an inch and _whispered_ , "You okay?" he asked it all sensitive lover-like, not something he'd ever done before and Daryl stared at him.

Unblinking. Unimpressed. Processing.

Something was slipping…

Daryl nodded once, because Rick seemed expectant, and then his eyes briefly shut at the stimulation of Rick starting to move inside of him, sliding their pelvises together _slowly_. But Daryl didn't like _slow_ , and while he was usually an active sex partner, right then he lay still beneath Rick, insipid, allowing Rick to fuck him at that pace.

It felt good, sex should and what Rick was doing, did. It was just that Daryl liked proper _fucking_ , he didn't like sentiment and sweetness and sensuality and love making. Daryl didn't _love_ , never had loved anyone besides himself, it was a defect that came with growing up in an abusive home where self-preservation and self-value were one and the same thing. So to him, Rick represented sex. Not love.

But Rick was really into it, staring down into Daryl's eyes, he was thrusting long and slow, sliding deep, hips gliding and Daryl exhaled unsteadily because it was _weird_ and _intense_ and while he was getting something from it, it wasn't nearly enough, but it was kind of alright, not all bad. So he lay still and let the sex happen to him, deciding to see if it got any better. Because it was nothing like it usually was, there was no sexual fire-like heat under his skin, no wanton incomprehension of anything but the pleasure, friction and fullness. He wasn't feeling it deep in his bones, there was no gradual ache building in his thighs and pelvis, no sudden bursts of arousal throbbing through either of his sexual areas…no phenomenal sex, no hot sex, no great sex, nothing like it usually was, it was just…plain sex.

Rick initiated a kiss with Daryl and then continued it for a long while, it was drawn out, full of _feeling_ and Rick was moaning quietly and breathing Daryl's name into the kiss and then he started to kiss Daryl's neck and shoulder and cheek, one hand sliding down to hold Daryl's thigh to him, hooked on his waist, all the time slow and steady and becoming increasingly uncomfortable for Daryl.

And Daryl couldn't help thinking that this was the Rick that used to fuck Lori.

Daryl **didn't** want that. The idea of it alone turned him _way_ off. For him this wasn't about Rick and his need to be in love and to make love all tender. It had to stop immediately.

So Daryl hooked both of his legs at the sides of Rick's waist, leveraged his weight and flipped their positions, landing Rick on his back with Daryl above him, straddling his lap. Rick looked surprised and dazed but Daryl didn't hold his confused gaze, instead he lowered his eyes to Rick's slick, unsheathed cock where it lay on his flat stomach, twitching gently to the pulse of Rick's blood flow. Daryl licked his lips at the sight of Rick's generous endowment, and figured that if he could find no other reason to keep Rick around, then his cock was probably reason enough on its own.

Seven plus inches of ha-

"Something wrong?" Rick interrupted his thoughts as he reached up to touch Daryl's face, but Daryl grabbed his wrist and leaned forward, pinning Rick's hand and its offensively sweet intentions above Rick's head on the mattress. And then with his free hand, Daryl reached between his own legs, between their bodies and he took a hold of Rick's cock, guiding it back into his body.

It went in easy, the quick fill of it making Daryl moan and Rick inhale sharply as he slid his hand over Daryl's thigh and then gripped there tightly, letting out a broken moan when Daryl started to ride him, fucking himself on Rick's cock…and he did it for himself, not for Rick.

Daryl moved his hips just the right way to stimulate his prostate, sliding himself along Rick's sex with expert ease, in and out, up and down, faster, rougher, panting, their skip slapping, sweat mixing, arousal and blood pumping faster, heat clouding Daryl's mind, narrowing his thoughts down to just sex and pleasure.

Just how it should be.

Daryl initiated a kiss and that time it was his preferred type of kiss and Rick, writhing, hips rolling, moaning, hands grasping, trying to keep up with Daryl, kissed back just how Daryl liked him to. Daryl fell into it, kissing Rick sloppily in between harsh, erratic breaths and smiles and tugging at his curly hair, slowly losing his rhythm because it started to feel just so fucking good as Rick begun to piston up into him, raw need replacing Rick's former tenderness. Before long Rick was thrusting with abandon, his mouth hanging open as he fucked up into Daryl like he really meant it, blunt skin slaps filling the room with each hard snap of his hips, driving his cock into Daryl roughly.

Daryl let Rick take it from there and he took his own erection in hand, starting to stroke himself in time with Rick's upward thrusts as Rick held his waist in a bruising grip and pulled Daryl's hips down to meet his movements. Rick moaned louder and shorter, and Daryl breathed heavier and harsher in between moaning and their noises blended together with the sounds and scents of their sex and it worked for Daryl, it turned him on. Rick turned him on.

The Rick that didn't fuck him like he'd used to fuck his wife.

The sex, heat and pleasure intensified between them, close to culminating, kisses becoming just breathing and moaning into one another's mouths and thrusts becoming erratic and uneven, muscles burning, legs and hands shak-…

Daryl heard his name mumbled from Rick's mouth into his own, then into the skin of his neck and shoulder and his voice wasn't dripping with lust and arousal, but was instead filled with affection that made Daryl grimace. The tone clearly said 'I love you' without actually saying it and somewhere in there Daryl heard Rick repeat that he'd leave for Daryl, which logically translated as 'leave Lori' for him.

 _Fuck_ …

And so conveniently Rick's cock was doing exactly the right thing in that moment, making Daryl lose it.

He cursed when he climaxed, his entire body tensing up and his eyes clenching shut as he moaned breathily and high pitched into Rick's hair. Rick trembled beneath him, moaning and gasping against the front of Daryl's neck when he orgasmed as well only a few rough thrusts later, the sounds and sights around them blurring and swimming in pleasure and sensation and heat.

Slowly they came down together, Rick kissing Daryl's neck and shoulder as he caught his breath, Daryl breathing heavily to the side, into the askew pillow underneath Rick's head. Rick remained inside Daryl's body even as his sex softened and their limbs stopped feeling like jelly. It was Daryl who eventually sat up and separated their bodies before he flopped onto the mattress beside Rick. Rick followed him, rolling into him, half on top of him and he continued to press kisses, more and more kisses to Daryl's mouth and neck and chest and stomach and to his tattoos and scars. They lay that way for longer than Daryl cared to or was sensible for Rick's work hours.

"That…was…" Rick started to say against the pulse in Daryl's neck but Daryl cut him off,

"I need a smoke." he announced quietly as he sat up, abruptly moving away from Rick's sweet kisses.

Daryl swung his legs off the bed and stood up, ignoring Rick's sigh behind him as he walked to his jeans at the foot of the bed and picked them up, sliding his hand into his pocket to extract his pack of cigarettes and his lighter. He let the jeans hang on his arm as he slipped a cigarette from the packet before placing it between his lips and lighting it up. Then Daryl flared his jeans out and stepped into it, pocketing the items again and uncaring of the stickiness trailing between his thighs, he fastened his jeans. He'd shower once Rick left.

He inhaled deeply from the cigarette as he turned around to face Rick, taking the needed nicotine into his lungs as he climbed back onto the bed on his knees, settling that way at the edge and watching Rick watching him as he smoked. Rick was frowning again and Daryl wondered if he should just outright tell Rick that the sweet , loving bullshit had to go or Rick himself would have to.

But he didn't want to act prematurely and lose the usually incredible sex he had with Rick. Daryl then considered letting what had just happened be a first strike for Rick, but if it got worse…then Daryl would cut his losses. He liked Rick, he liked him more than he had anyone he'd slept with before, but Daryl had no intention of ever loving Rick.

They sat in silence until Daryl was halfway through his cigarette and then Rick sat up, moving upward on the bed so he could lean his back against the wall,

"You don't want me to leave Lori, do you?" he asked seriously, looking older than his thirty something years.

Daryl stared at him for a moment as he held in a breath full of smoke and then slowly he exhaled and shook his head,

"Not for me." because he didn't need that kind of responsibility, he didn't want that commitment and burden. If Rick was going to leave Lori he'd have to do it while relying only on himself and not with any expectations from Daryl whatsoever.

Rick stared at him solemnly and Daryl saw hurt flash in his eyes, he'd probably realized what Daryl meant, what Daryl was saying without saying it. That he wouldn't be there for Rick, he wasn't Rick's boyfriend or life- partner, he wasn't going to be a crutch. There was only enough room in Daryl's life for himself…and the occasional temporary participant or two.

"Then I have no reason to get a divorce." Rick said sounding hopeless, breaking eye contact and looking off to the bedroom window like he'd just decided his life was over.

Daryl didn't have anything to say that would make Rick feel better so he smoked the last of his cigarette during the silence, chewing at the inside of his lip absently until Rick looked at him again. Daryl looked at him, held his gaze as Rick's eyes intensified to the point where Daryl wondered if he was trying to see inside his mind,

"Why though, can I ask you that?"

Of course he could ask, but it was a question that Daryl would not give him an answer to.

Because the answer was too personal. It was about Daryl's youth, about life lessons beaten into him, about growing up learning the violent way that no one was trustworthy, not deadbeat parents or drug addicted brothers or fickle friends or lying lovers. He'd learned by trial, error and consequence that no one was worth committing to, no one would ever understand all there was to…him…all the things he'd lived through.

Daryl had tried talking about it, he'd been to therapy more than once in his life because of Merle, who had become concerned –sober-enough at one point to step in when Daryl started his downward spiral and he'd scraped all of his money together, got a job, tried to clean up his act. He'd done it after Daryl's many hit and misses at being hospitalized because of reckless fighting…driving, fucking, drugging, drinking…living. When Daryl just wouldn't stop, didn't care. And especially when the sight of his own blood and the possibility of dying had stopped fazing the younger Dixon, Merle had tried to save him.

And Daryl supposed Merle had in a way, because here he was, drug free save for some prescription meds, some light beer drinking, his chain smoking and questionable sexual activities, Daryl was doing alright. He was still fucked up and probably always would be, his youth gone but never forgotten, but he was the only Dixon doing alright, the only Dixon left standing.

He knew he was lackluster about life, he didn't care about himself and other people as much as he should have and he was selfish and insensitive, but he was nothing compared to how he had been. And no one had to know how he'd been and no one should love him, because Daryl Dixon didn't love anyone besides himself, he never, ever had. Hate bred hate, Dixons bred Dixons. That had been the cycle of Daryl's life.

"Daryl?" Rick said his name like a question and drawn from his thoughts, Daryl looked from his burning cigarette filter to Rick, licking his nicotine stained lips and remembering Rick's last question. Daryl was never going to answer that question, so he knee-walked toward Rick on the bed and straddled him, leaning over to drop the cigarette filter into the ashtray on the bedside before he leaned in and kissed Rick roughly, pressing his head back into the wall with an audible bump. Daryl expected that would shut Rick up, or it'd be strike two.

After kissing Rick's mouth back to a freshly swollen state, Daryl drew away and he lowered his hand from where he'd placed it on the wall beside Rick's head, slowly down to Rick's shoulder, then over his naked chest… all the while watching as Rick started to look more and more aroused...and more and more needy and soft.

When Rick raised his hands and slid them slowly, almost reverently, over Daryl's naked torso, Daryl allowed him to touch freely. Rick's fingers caressed over his scars and blemishes and they dipped into and traced over sensitive places that Rick would miss kissing when this was all over. Because it would end, and it would probably happen sooner rather than later, since right then Rick's gaze and his touches all felt like 'love', and that was strike two.

Daryl was just about to move away from the excessive touching, but then Rick spoke again,

"I'm sorry if I'm bringing it up too much, I think it's just this thing with Lori. If we get a divorce the next few months of my life are going to be a damn mess."

 _'_ _You're already a mess.'_ Daryl thought with quiet amusement.

"And if she doesn't really want a divorce then it'll probably be even worse, because I have you," Daryl stared at him, "and she has whoever she's fucking," Daryl blinked slowly, "And it's all gotta' come to a head at some point. And even though…" Rick huffed and knocked his head back into the wall before he looked at Daryl again, "…and even though I'm cheating on her, I can't honestly say I won't lose it, that I won't _kill_ someone, when I find out who she's sleeping with."

That was interesting, it sounded to Daryl like Rick was still emotionally attached to his wife, even if he seemed to hate to acknowledge it. Daryl chewed his lip and trailed his eyes over Rick's handsome face,

"I thought ya' said you knew she was fucking Shane." He commented neutrally.

"I think she is." Rick said quickly, his hands coming to settle on Daryl's jean clad thighs in what was probably an absent touch since Daryl saw complete distraction on Rick's face, "But that makes it even more of a problem, because if it _is_ Shane, then he probably only started sleeping with her after he found out I was sleeping with you. And so how can I justify wanting to _kill_ him when I know how it is, when I know I was the one who started all of this?" Rick was slipping back into that self-invasive loathing mode again.

Daryl did mentally agree though, that it wouldn't be justified, because while Shane's guilt probably wasn't entirely based on 'after the fact', Daryl didn't think Rick had any right to be mad at Lori for cheating on him, all things considered.

Rick seemed to be waiting for some sort of advice from Daryl, but he was barking up the wrong tree, Daryl didn't advise people. He shifted to the side of Rick and flopped onto his back on the double bed again, putting his hands up behind his head and drawing his legs up, swaying his knees from side to side,

"You're gonna be late." Daryl reminded.

Rick huffed out a laugh lacking in amusement, in fact he sounded bitter and stressed, and he glanced at Daryl,

"You're no help." He pointed out before he got off the bed and started to pull on his clothes somewhat roughly, he was upset. Daryl watched him, raising an eyebrow lazily,

"I ain't no therapist." he said plainly as he grabbed a pillow and propped it underneath his head along with one arm, starting to bite at the skin around the thumbnail of his other hand.

Rick snorted sarcastically,

"Been there." He mumbled as he fastened his jeans and belt. Daryl didn't say anything else as he watched Rick get dressed and once the other man was fully clothed, boots and all, he just stood for a moment right where he was, staring at the floor with his hands on his hips.

When Rick turned to look at Daryl again, said man raised an expectant eyebrow and continued swaying his knees,

"Can I still see you tomorrow night, Lori won't be home?" Rick asked earnestly, since this visit had been unscheduled and they had been meant to see one another the following night.

Daryl didn't react to the hopefulness in Rick's tone, instead he just blinked slowly and said,

"I'll call you."

Rick stared at him. Rick knew what that meant, he wasn't stupid.

Daryl gave Rick a slow once over as Rick walked over to him and he leaned down, one hand balanced on the mattress beside Daryl as he pressed a kiss to Daryl's mouth that was sort of all over the place, not entirely sweet and affectionate as it had started out so much as desperate and needy…and loving, in its entirety.

Daryl waited until it was over, kissing back listlessly until Rick finally seemed to recall that he had somewhere to be and looking worse than he had when he'd shown up, Rick left.

And then he was gone and everything in the apartment was silent.

Daryl didn't really enjoy silence.

He got up from the bed with a swing of his legs and he headed into his bathroom to take a hot shower and wash Rick off his skin…Rick who Daryl would never call again, because with that last kiss, he'd just struck out.

* * *


	4. Lori Grimes & Her Self-Actualization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- There is explicit, graphic het-sexual content in this chapter, sensitive readers tread lightly

* * *

 

Lori stood looking at her reflection in the full length mirror mounted inside one of the wardrobe doors in her bedroom…her and Rick's bedroom. Aside from the slight puffiness around her eyes caused by the long cry she'd had that afternoon, she didn't think she looked too bad. She glanced over the length of her body, she wore nothing but a tight white camisole that clung to her torso and to the rise of her breasts, along with a plain white panty. Her long brown hair was open, splayed out on her shoulders, trailing down her back, all natural waves and tangles, no product in it whatsoever. She wore no makeup, the only cosmetics on her fair skin was a touch of her perfume and some lavender scented lotion.

It was just the way **he** liked her, all natural.

He'd told her that he liked her hair when it was soft and unstyled, so she freshly washed and blow dried it whenever she was going to be seeing him. He'd also said he liked the smell of her skin, so she always kept her fragrance as minimal as it had been at the moment in time when he'd said it. And he said he liked to see her beautiful face without makeup, said she didn't need to wear any, she was pretty all on her own. He'd told her that he liked the subtle lines of her body, had asked why she covered it up with unflattering baggy clothes. So she wore no makeup when he came around and she showed as much skin as she could…up until the point when he would completely remove her clothes and then she'd be wearing nothing at all.

Lori couldn't explain it, but she liked to please him, even just the idea of pleasing him, making him smile, making him aching hard for her, making him want to touch her all over…it turned her on, it gave her confidence, made her feel sexy…it made her eager. It made her want and yearn for him, to touch the planes of his muscles, to feel the roughness of his hands on her body, to smell the scent of his skin, to feel the scrape of his facial hair when he kissed her _everywhere_ , to feel the weight of his body above her and the hard, throbbing press of his cock inside of her…

She already felt a mounting desire for his presence as she presently stood looking at herself in the mirror, there was an ache between her legs and dampness in the seat of her thin underwear and the blatancy of it all made her blush, made her feel embarrassed and ashamed over her impatience and neediness.

She pursed her lips and mentally scolded herself for feeling shame. He'd told her time and time again not to be afraid of what she wanted, not to be afraid of her body and satisfying her needs. He'd told her to learn herself, asked her to touch herself for him while he watched...and assisted. He also kissed and touched and fucked her in ways she had never experienced before…and it was overwhelming and somehow, in a way she'd never known, everything she wanted.

Rick had _never_ been that way with her. Rick was careful, he was always a perfect gentlemen during sex.

Rick had always treated her like a lady, touched her only in ways she was okay with, did only the things she knew other 'proper' women allowed their husbands to do to them, only the things she was brave enough to confess to wanting, nothing out of bounds, nothing she thought was risqué. But there were other needs she'd never addressed and some she hadn't known she had, and those needs and desires had only awakened in her that first time that **he** had fucked her.

The man she gave herself to these days, while he didn't force her, he also never asked her, he left the control in her hands without explicitly putting it there. She could say 'no' or 'stop' if she wanted to, but he wouldn't ask permission to do and touch and take, and in that way Lori had learned to let go, to enjoy what he gave and let him have what he wanted.

And the sex they had…was the best she'd ever experienced, every time.

She couldn't remember the last time that just the _idea_ of being with Rick had evoked such strong emotions and desire in her. In fact, it probably never had and it was because Rick had always been the 'right' kind of man, the man who settled down young, felt no need to go around with various women, found a 'special' girl and swore to love and keep her and treat her like glass. He'd been the sort of man who strived for the white picket fence, the suburban life and the perfect housewife.

Or so he'd believed he was. Lori had as well for a long time.

But things had changed, and it was because in the end neither she nor Rick were the people they'd believed they were. Now…now she was sleeping with a man outside of her marriage, while being stuck in a loveless, sexless marriage and it wasn't right, it was anything but. And she knew it.

It was secretive and deceptive, a betrayal against her marital vows…but so was the fact that Rick was having an affair. So that made it even. Or at least that's what she told herself.

It was too late to care now anyway, they'd both stepped out on one another, and while Lori couldn't speak for Rick, she knew for herself that what had started out as a quick fuck with another man, had now become **more** to her. Yes, the _sex_ was amazing, the sex was so different, it was not marital sex, it was not missionary, it was not sweet, it was not tender, it was always real and so visceral…but it was **not** all there was to it.

Lori enjoyed his general company too, she trusted herself around him, with him, next to him, she liked the sound of his voice, the tilt of his smile, the way he talked honestly and listened carefully to her.

She'd developed feelings for him and she knew he felt the same, she knew it from his kiss and from the way he looked at her, always intense, always attentive.

They had come a long way from where they'd started.

From that very first time he'd made a move on her and she'd been completely unsuspecting.

They'd been standing in the living room, hers and Rick's, and talking about something or the other, when he'd kissed her, out of the blue, stunning her with the action. And then he had taken the fact that she hadn't reacted -hadn't said 'no' or pushed him away- as her consent. He'd brazenly popped open the buttons of her plaid shirt one by one, pressing insistent kisses and flicks of his tongue against her sealed lips as his hands had slid over her chest and then lower, onto her breasts.

Lori hadn't said or done anything to stop him –hadn't really wanted to-, she hadn't even been able to think clearly as he'd unclasped her bra and then slipped his tongue into her mouth when she'd inhaled a sharp breath. His hands had been everywhere on her skin as he'd proceeded to strip off her jeans and underwear. Even presently, she remembered herself shaking with guilt, but more powerfully with dizzying **arousal** , as one of his hands had palmed her breast and the other had teased at the gathering moisture between her legs.

And she'd never forget when next he'd led her backwards until she'd been leaning against the nearest wall and he'd gotten onto his knees, hiked one of her trembling legs up and over his shoulder and he'd kissed her sex once, his eyes looking up into hers, before he'd slipped his tongue along and inside of her labia, teasing at her clitoris, making her moan under his touch…as if he'd had every right to do so.

And he might as well have had, considering the way he'd made her tremble and moan in pleasure, letting out sounds she hadn't known were possible, Lori had surprised herself. And any guilt she'd been feeling had been gone by the time he'd been back on his feet with his pants unfastened and his hands under her thighs. He'd lifted her against the living room wall of the very house she lived in with Rick and she'd wrapped her shaking legs around his waist as he'd easily supported her weight. He'd had a condom ready and that probably should have raised some questions for Lori about his premeditated intentions…but once he'd entered her body and had started fucking her there and then, in that moment, unbidden, debauched, adulterous and so _damn good_ , Lori couldn't have thought coherently even if she'd tried.

She'd just held onto him tightly, letting go of her inhibitions more and more with each thrust of his hips, each stroke of his sex into her own.

The entire experience had been so erotic, like something out of one of the soft porn novels her friends read, books she'd occasionally picked up when she was bored and then put down again when she'd felt stupid for liking it. But then she'd experienced it, being with another man in the house she shared with her husband, being _taken_ roughly by a man she knew she shouldn't have been attracted to, shouldn't have allowed to touch her at all, because it was wrong for many reasons.

But she'd been drunk on the atmosphere at the time, it had been a rush, he'd been an eclipse for her in that moment and she'd let her morals be blacked out, she'd let herself be swept away. Lori had felt honestly guilty afterward, after he'd been done, after they'd both come –her first genuine orgasm in a long time- and he'd asked if she was alright, had kissed her lips and left the taste of her own sex in her mouth.

Lori had simply asked him to leave at the time and he had without further question.

She'd cried afterward as she'd pulled her underwear on and buttoned up her shirt with shaking hands, rushing to the shower to wash away her betrayal, furious at herself for what she'd done. But as she'd stood under the stream of hot water, she'd felt angry at herself for feeling guilty when she _knew_ Rick was cheating on her, so in the end she'd just felt disappointed in herself because she'd never thought she was the type of woman to cheat on her husband.

At the time, she'd had to deal with it, she'd buried it inside her conscience and pretended like it hadn't happened. She was a strong woman and she'd sucked it up, cleaned herself up, made sure there was no physical evidence anywhere on her person or in the living room –not that Rick would notice for how little attention he paid to her- and then she'd dressed and made dinner for her husband with steady hands and dry eyes.

And Rick _hadn't_ noticed, in fact he'd barely looked at her when he returned home from work that night and it stung, as it often did, it hurt her. So while Lori had promised herself she'd never cheat again, the next time she saw **him** when he'd come over again, when Rick was not there, her bitterness toward her unloving, cheating husband and the specific heat she felt rise in her body at the sight and sound of **him** , had weakened her resolve.

He'd come over just to see how she was doing, he'd looked at her with affection and smiled sincerely when he spoke, he'd asked quietly, personally, how she was feeling since they'd slept together, he'd touched a loose tangle of her hair and stroked a thumb along her jaw line, not tenderly but sensually, seductively.

 _'_ _I can't stop thinking about you.'_ He'd said, voice low and alluring.

The first thing Lori had thought was that Rick hadn't bothered to ask her how she was doing in a long time, and she'd never known such simple words could mean so much to her until **he** said them.

Lori wasn't sure of the exact moment they'd gone from talking to kissing, she'd just hoped that the neighbors hadn't noticed that it had been almost 6 PM and that Rick hadn't been home when she'd invited **him** inside, because that early evening she'd cheated on Rick again and that time, they'd done it in the spare bedroom.

Lori turned away from her reflection as she shook herself out of useless recollection, thoughts of guilt, shame and Rick were no longer relevant, she felt nothing about any of those things any more. She raised her left hand and regarded her wedding ring for a moment before she twirled it around her thin finger, sliding it off as she did so. Lori then walked to her bedside stand and she pulled the drawer open, dropping the ring inside carelessly so that it knocked against the wood audibly before she shut the drawer. She still felt unsettled about what she was doing some days, but as Rick's own affair seemed to drag on and on, she cared less and less, because she was happier in the moments she shared with **him** than she'd been in her entire marriage to Rick Grimes.

She was someone else, someone _alive_ , when **he** was around her and she liked it.

He'd been coming over to see her in secret ever since those first two times, whenever he could manage, working around his own schedule and Rick's, making sure he only came over to _see_ her when Rick wouldn't be there.

Lori had never gone to his place, she'd never even wanted to. In her head it made sense that if she kept it just where it was, just confined to her –and Rick's- house, it was safer, it was a complete secret, no matter how much more of a betrayal it was. And besides, she was almost too certain that Rick had probably fucked his affair in their home more than once as well, so as long as she never slept with **him** in her and Rick's bed, she didn't feel so bad.

She sometimes wondered whether Rick ever slept with his affair in their bed, or she'd wonder if he took his ring off when he cheated on her, but those questions only upset her to think about, so she would always force them out, smother them.

It was insidious, the way they lived, sneaking around one another. She despised it…she'd grown to despise Rick, and while she'd been hanging on all this time to their miserable marriage, she was ready to _finally_ let go. She'd threatened divorce before but hadn't truly meant it, but after what had happened that afternoon and Rick's complete disinterest in the fact that she was cheating on him too, Lori had realized there was no saving anything, it was _over_. And she was going to tell **him** that night, that she was getting a divorce and she was certain he'd be happy about it, especially since he said quite often that he wished he could see her more often, be with her more than they were currently able to and after she was divorced he'd get to see her _all the time_.

As for Rick, she decided she'd tell him the following morning because she needed **him** to give her the final boost of confidence.

Lori took in a deep breath and closed her eyes, calming herself against the torrent of mixed emotions she felt whenever she thought about her failed marriage to a man she'd once loved. Once again she shook off the negative feelings and instead turned her thoughts to **him** and it made her smile. Rick was on shift that night, she knew that from earlier that afternoon and so she'd felt confident enough to contact and ask **him** to come over, sure that nothing would _interrupt_ their time together for the rest of the night.

And besides that, she just felt like she really wanted to see him.

Lori startled slightly from her thoughts when her phone blipped and she glanced down at the lit up screen where her cell sat on her beside stand. She picked it up and slid the lock bar across the screen, tapping into her new message. It was from **him** and it simply read _'Almost there'_. She quickly texted back, ' _Just come in, the door's unlocked'_ and then she cleared the messages off her phone as she always did, feeling anxious and yet victorious as she continued to neatly manage her affair. She'd been far less obvious about it than Rick had, and up until that afternoon when Rick had mentioned that he _knew_ she was cheating, Lori had thought he was completely oblivious.

His crass words had shocked her, especially considering she and Rick hadn't been alone at the time and the situation could have gotten well out of hand. She'd felt guiltier than she had in a long time at the ill-timed confrontation. But as she often did, once she'd been alone, Lori had brushed it off and got herself back on track emotionally.

Lori placed her phone back down and glanced around her –and Rick's- bedroom before she grabbed her short, light gray cotton dressing gown off the foot of the bed and then she exited the room, switching the light off and pulling the door closed behind her.

She walked down the hall in the direction of the front door as she fastened the belt of her robe loosely and as she took the corner into the foyer, she heard the door open and she looked up. Lori smiled at the same time as he smiled at her while closing the door behind himself.

"Hey, you." She greeted softly as she walked up to him, her steps quicker than before.

"Hey…" he responded quietly and once they were near enough his hands automatically came to rest on her waist with ease and comfort and she loved it. Rick had stopped being that way with her so long ago, "…you alright?" he asked, he always asked, especially when he knew something was wrong or had happened.

Lori took a moment to remember what had happened that afternoon and then she quickly brushed it off, smiling at him as she brought her hands up to rest on his shoulders, running her fingers over the texture of his shirt,

"I'm fine," she shook her head, forcing the thought of Rick out of her mind, "I know you probably want to talk about it…but I really, really don't." She said quickly before he could say anything more, or ask anything.

And as usual, he never did insist or push her to say more than she wanted to, which she appreciated endlessly.

Lori ran her hands slowly down his chest, the feeling of his firm body taking her mind off of her shitty afternoon,

"Do you, uh…do you want a drink?" she offered, she usually did and he usually accepted.

He looked over her admiringly, raising a hand to brush some of her hair behind her ear before he smiled and nodded,

"Alright."

Lori stroked her hands over his chest again, following the movement with her eyes for a moment, before she turned around and walked toward the liquor cabinet in the living room, Rick's liquor cabinet. Rick hardly ever drank hard liquor so she felt confident he wouldn't ever notice that his collection of whiskeys, bourbons and vodkas, which mostly consisted of gifted bottles over the years, wasn't quite as untouched as it had once been.

She pulled open one side of the glass cabinet doors and reached for the Jack Daniels, which was in the exact spot she'd last placed it. But then she hesitated, a smile touching her lips when she thought that maybe the occasion called for something _more_. After all, it was a big night, Lori would be telling her lover that they were finally going to get to be together properly and that warranted a bit of a celebration.

So she shifted a few bottles around, reading labels until she found a bottle of Glenlivit 18 Year scotch whiskey. She reached for it and upon examining the seal she noticed it had been opened but it looked as though very little had been drunk from it.

"Everything alright?" his voice brought her attention back and she turned around to smile at him where he'd sat down in the center of the three seat sofa, his arms were stretched out along the back of the couch and he had one ankle rested across the knee of his other leg,

"Yes, just fine, I was just wondering whether you might like to drink something a little more…mature." She smirked as she wiggled the bottle lightly and his smile widened. He inclined his head,

"Hm, alright, but…" he grinned openly now, "…only if you have a drink with me."

Lori held onto the whiskey as she closed the cabinet, a small frown settling on her smiling face,

"Obviously, I was going to have wine…" she grabbed a branded whiskey tumbler from Rick's cabinet shelf, looking it over despite knowing how clean she kept everything and then she walked to where he sat and leaned over to place the bottle and glass on the coffee table just across from him, "…I always do, don't -…!" she let out a laughing yelp when he grabbed her waist and tugged her down to him.

She was smiling as she 'fell' into his lap, he'd turned her to face him when he tugged her, so she only needed to adjust herself minimally before she was settled with her legs straddling his waist and her hands holding the sides of his neck. He hummed low in his throat as he firmly caressed his hands upward on her bare thighs, pushing the short dressing gown farther up,

"I mean a _real_ drink, just one shot." He tempted her with a kiss to her chin and Lori, feeling the returning ache between her legs that came with the sight, sound and scent of the man before her, relaxed her weight against him, leaned in to him. Her arousal was building and her pulse quickening at the feeling of his clothed semi erection where it pressed between her legs, against her sex through her thin, dampening underwear.

She loved the feeling of his rough hands on her soft skin and his continued caressing of her thighs was making her feel hot and impatient.

And while she hated the taste of whiskey, she was too distracted by his touch to point that out,  
"Alright, one shot." She agreed with just a bit of breathlessness, her eyes sliding shut briefly as he leaned forward and kissed the lightly freckled rise of her collarbone, his hands gliding further up until he was able to brush his thumbs beneath the side waist straps of her panty.

He seemed pleased by her choice because he smiled against her skin and that made Lori feel pleased with herself.

She shifted with him then, holding onto his shoulders as he wrapped an arm securely around her waist so he could sit forward just enough to grab the bottle and glass behind her back and then he settled back again, but he was sitting lower on the couch. His legs were further off, his booted feet –Lori didn't even care that he never took his shoes off- were flat on the floor, the position leaving his torso stretched out and his head rested against the back cushion.

It also gave Lori more room to sit properly so she adjusted until she was sitting higher on his waist before she took the glass he held out to her. He turned the cap off the bottle and sniffed the whiskey, raising an eyebrow in appreciation,

"You sure Rick ain't gonna' notice?" he asked, even as he poured until the tumbler was just under half way full and then he resealed the bottle. Lori just shrugged and took the bottle from him, leaning to the side to place it on the floor next to his leg,

"I don't really care." She said honestly.

He grinned at her as he raised his one arm and placed it above his head, his forearm now resting along the top of the sofa back,

"You're feeling rebellious tonight after what happened today?"

Lori held the tumbler carefully as she slid her other hand underneath the material of his shirt and over his nicely defined abdomen,

"I don't want to talk about it right now…maybe later." She said as she felt her way up to his chest.

He bobbed his eyebrows in agreement and then raised his other hand to tap the glass she held,

"That's a double, half of it's yours. Drink up." He licked his lips, his tone having dropped an octave.

The sound of his voice made her heart race in anticipation of what might follow and she raised her own eyebrows at the glass before she took a small sip.

"Nuh uh…" he placed his finger under the glass and tipped it so she had to drink more.

Lori's throat burned as she drank the gulp down, making a face at how awful it tasted. He took the tumbler from her with a smirk, chuckling quietly before he knocked back the rest of the alcohol in the glass easily, not even flinching.

"Oh God, that stuff is awful. I don't know how you drink it." She complained but was still smiling. He shrugged facially and handed her the empty glass, which she also placed on the floor by the bottle and the second she was upright again, he slipped his hand behind her neck and tugged her so she came forward to meet his lips in an open mouth kiss.

He never kissed her like she was delicate, it was always hungry and slightly aggressive, as if he couldn't get enough of her mouth and Lori reacted as she always did, her body instantly heating up, her arousal spiking, she loved it.

She had grown to love everything about him…

As his tongue lapped and slid against her own, their kisses noisy and bruising, his hands found the loose knot of her gown and he unfastened it so that the material fell open,

"I…want…you." He said demandingly in a low tone in between kisses and Lori felt heat rush through her at what it did to her to hear the raw desire in his voice. She was hastily slipping her dressing gown off her shoulders when he drew back from the kiss and his eyes lowered to appreciatively wander over what was revealed beneath the robe.

Her gown fell at his booted feet as he brought his hands up and settled them on her sides, just below her breasts, so that he could circle his thumbs over her nipples through the camisole, teasing the sensitive nubs and watching as they became firm under his touch. Lori gathered her hair back from her face as she leaned in to kiss him, wrapping her other arm around his neck and arching into him as his hands replaced his thumbs to fully palm the weight of her breasts.

He met her kiss with his own, rougher and sexy and so good that it made her feel weak all over and pleasantly sore between her legs. Lori felt his hands sliding up beneath her camisole, caressing over the bare goosepimpling skin of her stomach and sides and then further up until he was cupping and teasing her breasts again, skin on skin, making her press closer to him. Lori exhaled a quiet moan as his mouth, wet and hot, moved down over her chin, his tongue trailing along behind gentle sucks as he mouthed his way down over the front of her throat.

"I missed…you…" she breathed out exactly what she was thinking.

And she was pleasantly startled when he flipped her to the side, following right after so that he was above her and she was lying on the sofa seats on her back, her head landing comfortably against an askew couch cushion. He easily positioned himself between her smooth, freshly shaven legs, which she hitched onto his hips to pull him closer against her, her hands tangling in his hair as he licked at one of her nipples through the camisole.

"Tell me how much…" he instructed gruffly as he moved on to the other nipple and teased it the same way.

Lori bit her bottom lip on another soft moan as his free hand –the one not supporting his weight- slid down her lightly curved side, his rough fingertips gliding over the sensitive skin of her hip and then onto her flat stomach, before skirting lower and teasingly slipping beneath the waistline of her panty and into her pubic curls.

She panted quietly,

"So much, I've…been thinking about…you…all…day…" and she was not telling a lie, since he'd been first and last thing on her mind before and after Rick had left the house.

In a quick movement he was balancing on his knees on the sofa, freeing up both of his hands, which he used to quickly pull her panty down over her thighs and Lori didn't hesitate to raise her hips and legs until he was able to slip her underwear right off over her feet, leaving her naked from the waist down as he dropped the small garment onto the coffee table.

"Did ya' get wet thinking about me?" he asked with a smirk, knowing that Lori enjoyed it when he made her talk dirty. He took his shirt off then, his muscles flexing slightly as he pulled it over his head and then he dropped it over the back of the sofa, all the while watching her as she watched him. Her legs were already spread at his sides, but once he had his shirt off and his desire filled gaze raked slowly over the length of her prone body, Lori's remaining inhibitions slipped away and she let her legs fall wider apart as she reached a hand forward to grab the buckle of his leather belt,

" **So** wet." She was looking up at him through a few messy tangles of her hair, her face was flushed and her voice shaking…because while she was absent of shame right then she was not entirely confident in herself when it came to talking 'dirty', to acting on the 'sexy' side of herself that he said he liked so much. But she enjoyed the way it made her feel to try, no matter how afraid of embarrassment she was and so she trailed her fingers down over his clothed erection and left them there, lingering on the material covering his zipper suggestively.

 **He** brought out a different side of her altogether and she did things with him that she'd never have been able to even try with Rick for fear of his judgment.

But being with her lover was so easy, so liberating, it was so simple to forget that she was a married woman…

He smirked above her, clearly pleased with her boldness as he took in the sight of her and he begun to unfasten his belt slowly and then his pants,

"Touch yourself." He said –instructed- in a gruff voice.

It was something he often asked her to do and something Lori had never done for Rick…well, he'd never asked. But she did it now, without hesitation, doing her best to be sexy about it, she slid her hand away from his crotch and down over the inside of her thigh, further inward until she was running her fingers over her sex and then Lori slipped a finger into herself, watching him all the while as his eyes followed her hand.

He kept his eyes on her hand between her legs as he pushed his pants and boxers down just enough so that his cock was comfortably exposed and then he started touching himself as well, stroking his erection as she touched herself in much the same way, stroking as well, only hers were on the inside.

He was smirking down at her, his eyes burning with heat and lust as he glanced between her face and her hand.

Lori felt a volt of arousal and excitement spasm through her when he sat back on his legs and lowered his free hand between her legs, easily sliding two of his fingers into her alongside her own single digit and he hummed low and gruff as he pressed them deeper in,

"Fuck…you're so wet." He informed her smugly.

Lori was frowning in a mixture of emotional and physical pleasures. She licked her lips at the feeling of his fingers and she nodded at his words without thought, the heat thrumming through her body making it seem like a waste to say or think anything more. She ran her free hand up into her long hair, brushing it back from her sweat damp face as she removed her single finger from herself because he'd started to steadily finger her. He was gentle at first and then his movements became quicker and more intense and she moaned softly at the sensations it created throughout her entire body. She loved being touched that way by him, while watching him touch himself for her, both of his hands busy, one in her and one on himself.

It felt so good, he made her feel so fucking good.

When he stopped and removed his fingers, Lori locked eyes with him for a panting, dazed moment before trailing her eyes over his attractive face and body appreciatively, taking in the sight of his thick and long erect cock and finding herself _wanting_ it. She was unashamed of lying on the couch so exposed, for him she let herself go in a way she never had with Rick, in a way she sometimes wondered if Rick let go with his own affair.

She hated to think he enjoyed himself as much as she did…and that probably wasn't fair of her.

Lori blinked Rick out of her mind as she watched **him** retrieve a condom from the back pocket of his pants. The wrapper looked new and crisp as if he'd only just taken it out of the box before he'd come over. She sat up then, as he opened and removed the slicked condom from the shiny wrapper, and she ran her hands over his abdomen and over his muscled thighs as she watched him roll it onto his cock, it looked glossy, transparent and tight against his flushed erection.

The sudden urge she had to put her mouth on her lover's sex was another contrast to her former sexual relationship with Rick, she'd only occasionally given Rick oral sex and only ever when he'd hinted for it. But with her lover she'd actually done it the first time without him even having to request it, and it was because he had always been so generous during sex from the start, which made her _want_ to reciprocate in every way.

And Lori knew from Rick's enjoyment of it, that men really liked receiving blow jobs, so while she was never a pro, she'd certainly improved with practice on **him**.

And right then, faced with his arousal, she decided to fellate him, it seemed like the thing to do in the moment. She reached out and started stroking him, her fingers sliding over his own before he removed his hand and she was surprised by the feeling of arousal coursing through her as he swelled in her hand, his reaction to her touch urging her on even more. He'd been stroking himself to adjust the condom and he let Lori take over for a few strokes but when she leaned her mouth closer, she was surprised that he stopped her with a hand under her chin, tilting her head up as he shook own,

"Not tonight." Was all he said by way of explanation before he gestured for her to lie back down.

Lori didn't question him, she never did…there was something about the intensity of his eyes that made her give up control. So she did as he said and lied back again, settling more comfortably on the couch as he moved to lie between her legs, balancing above her, their exposed skin touching, damp and hot. He kissed her then and took only seconds to work his way deep into her mouth as he reached one hand up to touch her hair, then he moved it downward, firmly caressing her neck, her breasts, stomach, thighs, everywhere he could reach until finally he raised one of her legs up to wrap around his waist. Next he reached his hand between their bodies, taking a hold of his erection before guiding himself into her sex with a firm press and slick ease.

Lori moaned into his mouth as he filled her and he made a noise of pleasure as well, deeper and gruffer than hers could ever be, before he started to move inside her, not waiting, he never did wait and Lori liked it that way.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and held on to him because she needed to, because he was just the right side of rough with her. She kissed him and touched him and enjoyed the feeling of his sex stroking deep inside her while she stifled too-loud moans at the sensations he wrought from her loins with every hard impact.

And like she'd been doing for the past few months, Lori let her lover fuck her senseless in the house she shared with her husband.

It wasn't quick but it never took as long as she always remembered it taking in the past for her to feel the build up to orgasm. But all the same, **he** was patient enough to pace himself, to adjust his angles or his depth of thrust, to touch her body throughout the sex, to grunt out the occasional dirty words against her mouth or her skin, to get Lori worked up, to make her let go...to get her to come for him.

And when she finally went over the edge to the feeling of him fucking himself deep and hard into her, his sweat mixing with her own as their bodies moved, him breathing deeply against her mouth as his tongue slipped inside and his hand squeezed her breast a little roughly, Lori moaned loudly and pressed her head back into the sofa as her body seized up tight in orgasm, forgetting to breathe for a few long seconds as she was overcome with waves of pleasure.

He didn't come with her, he never did, he always took longer and only once he knew she'd orgasmed, did he start to thrust into her with abandon, now balancing himself on both hands either side of her head and partially on his knees so he had better leverage to move as he snapped his hips forward and drew them back, again and again.

It was in those moments that she would see more of the man that she'd been sharing her body with. He wasn't an open book like Rick was, there were layers to him and she'd only seen some of them. And when he arrived at the point of fucking her for his own pleasure, like he was right then, using her body to satisfy himself, he always looked harsher, far more intense, distant and just a bit like a stranger. He never showed any signs of feeling bliss or pleasure on his face as he approached orgasm, he just looked serious and in his eyes there was just plain lust, just blatant want. Lori knew there was more to him after having seen those brief glimpses.

And she had been concerned about it in the beginning, after she'd noticed it for the first time, but she couldn't find it in herself to dislike or distrust that side of him. Because for that one intimidating side of him, there were so many other layers she wanted to know more about, she wanted to see more of him, know what he was like _outside_ of their secret.

She wanted to **be** with him.

He held himself above her as he rode out his orgasm, their bodies still connected as his hips moved backwards and forwards absently. He was breathing through his nose in quick bursts, his eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath and Lori waited until he was more coherent and he'd opened his eyes to look down at her again, before she spoke,

"I'm going to divorce Rick." She said quietly, breathily and it was probably a little ill-timed, but she felt like she couldn't wait any longer to tell him.

He stared down at her, still breathing somewhat heavily as she reached a hand up and stroked it through his hair and then down the side of his face, slowly over his neck and over his sweat damp chest in a manner she hoped was soothing, "I called a lawyer today, asked her to draw up the papers, it's going to happen." She smiled, brushing her damp, clingy hair back from her face with both her hands, she was still catching her own breath.

His face was unreadable for a tense moment and she felt a knot of anxiousness form in her stomach, but after a beat of silence he smiled softly and then lowered himself so he was lying above her properly and her anxiety lessened. She kept smiling, focusing on the warmth of his body, sticky against her own, their abdomens peeling apart and pressing together with every breath they took…those details were comforting to her.

But when he shifted his hips backwards and slipped his softening sex from her body, Lori's anxiety returned because he still hadn't said anything. She waited, quiet and _patient,_ as he slid his fingers into her hair, he was regarding her with the same soft smile on his face and then he leaned down and kissed her lips gently, and it was a stark contrast to the way he usually kissed her,

"You're serious?" he asked quietly, searching her eyes and she got lost in his own so quickly.

Lori sniffed, her emotions were starting to become a little overwhelming but it was all good feelings, and she nodded, smiling softly at him too,

"I am, I mean it…" she admitted and then brought her arms up to encircle them around his neck, her hands settling in his hair, "…I, I want to be with **you**. When it's all over, we won't have to hide anymore." She said in a near whisper, sliding one hand down to touch his face again, "I'm going to tell Rick tomorrow morning, as soon as I can, about you and me. I don't think he'll sue me for infidelity, since he's cheating as well." She breathed out, voice shaking as the weight of what she was doing settled in.

She was scared of the change, terrified after being married for so long, but Lori was feeling something much more important than fear as she lay beneath her lover…it felt like love and pain, a strong confusing mixture of the two that came with needing someone almost desperately…and it was all for **him**.

She didn't want to wait any longer to be happy.

Again he just looked at her for a moment and then he leaned in to kiss her, that time tasting deep into her mouth before he drew back and said against her lips,

"That's perfect." He whispered with the same soft smile.

She breathed out a sigh of relief and smiled broadly before she pursed her lips and sniffed again,

"I'm glad you think so, I was worried you wouldn't feel the same way, that you'd think I was being rash." She said quietly, looking up at him with a serious, wide eyed gaze.

He simply shook his head, his gaze intense and set on her,

"There's no time like the present, Lori." He said in a low, unreadable tone.

And Lori felt tears spring to her eyes at the relief of it all.

As she moved to wipe her tears away with a shaking hand and a smile on her face, he raised himself off of her and she was vaguely aware of the sound of the condom snapping softly and once she was sitting up on the sofa, he sat down beside her. Lori shook her head and huffed out a sob,

"It's silly to be crying when I'm happy." She scolded herself, pressing her still weak, shaking thighs together.

He didn't judge her for her vulnerability and neither did he coddle her, instead, once he'd tied the condom off, he leaned down to pick her gown up, handing it to her before he stood up to resituate his underwear and fasten his pants. She stood up when he did and she pulled the gown on, covering her nudity and tying the belt off in a loose knot. She watched quietly as he pulled a tissue out of the box on the stand beside the couch and bunched it around the used condom, readying it to be thrown away probably…

…and then she couldn't help herself, she stepped into him and he held her without question.

Lori cried then, pressing her face into his shoulder and letting it out, relief and sadness, and he patiently held her, letting her turn his skin wet with her tears.

After a while he asked her quietly,

"Are you sure you wanna' do this?"

Lori pulled back to look him in the eye and she nodded certainly,

"Yes, I have to, I don't want to be with Rick anymore, _we_ don't want to be with one another." She pursed her lips and smiled at him, "I…I think I might be in love with you." She said quietly and then she said his name lovingly before pressing a kiss to his lips.

He smiled slowly,

"You think?"

Lori laughed softly and half rolled her eyes before she leaned up and kissed his lips a few times more, sniffling,

"I…I am." She told him what she honestly felt, "I'm in love with you."

He continued to smile, his eyes tracking over her face but he didn't say anything, he didn't say it back.

And Lori was okay with that. She'd wait to be with him properly before he said it.

She made a quiet, happy sound then, something like a disbelieving laugh and he held her for a while longer when she remained in his arms. But when she glanced at the wall clock, she saw that it was already nearing 12.30 AM and Lori still had to take a shower and tidy up the lounge after **he** left, all before Rick came home.

Just because she was going to tell Rick about her lover and demand a divorce, it didn't mean she needed him to come home and see or smell evidence of what she'd been doing while he was at work.

It would be an unnecessary ugliness.

So she drew back from the hug and they shared another deep kiss before he said he was going to take a quick shower, as he usually did, and he left her alone in the living room.

Lori retrieved her underwear and pulled it on under the gown and then she went about tidying up with a small smile on her face. She felt more confident now than she had before in her decision to get a divorce, relieved that she knew she wouldn't be alone when it was all over.

For the first time in a long while, listening to sound of the shower running in the background and even considering joining her lover in there, Lori felt truly happy.

* * *


	5. Rick Grimes & His Expectations Versus His Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -Sorry for the delay.
> 
> -NB: This chapter contains graphic murder, sensitive readers tread lightly.

* * *

Rick was standing under the spray of hot shower water, his hands braced against the wall, his weight leaned on his arms, his eyes closed, his breathing slow and his body tensed as the water ran down over his face, slipped off the tip of his nose, gathered in the seam of his closed lips and careened down the length of his body. He was in the communal showers of the police station, having desperately needed to take a shower after…earlier…since he'd been sticky and smelling like sweat and…sex and Daryl.

He sighed heavily, sending a spray of water away from his nose right before he stood up straight and withdrew his head from under the water, wiping a hand over his face to clear the moisture, he opened his eyes and blinked away a few caught water droplets. His stomach was over turning with disappointment –in himself-, anxiousness –over Daryl's last words- and anger…anger because of Lori, because he hadn't been able to take his mind off of her and focus on Daryl and now Daryl wasn't answering his messages.

Rick had been in his car on the way to work, only five minutes after leaving Daryl's apartment, when he'd sent the first text which said: _'I'm sorry'_. Daryl hadn't answered and it'd made Rick stress from irritation and emotional conflict over whether to be hurt or annoyed by Daryl.

He hadn't particularly cared that he was more than a half hour late by the time he'd strode into the station. The other officer on duty had seemed like he wanted to say something, start up a conversation, but when Rick had shot him a look that warned him off any small talk and had stated shortly that he was going to take a shower, the other officer had shut his mouth and continued to do whatever he'd been doing prior to Rick's moody entry.

Rick was too exhausted to care how he'd come across, he was usually friendly, usually striving not to let his fucked up marriage and complicated affair with Daryl bleed into his work life, and with Shane –who was likely fucking his wife- being in the work place, it was often challenge enough. But after the way things had been left between himself and Lori that afternoon and now with Daryl, Rick felt upset, unsettled, uneasy and pissed off.

Mostly because of Daryl, because of the fact that Rick knew what 'I'll call you' had really meant, it wasn't the words so much as the nonchalance with which Daryl had said it. It had been a brush off.

Rick wished he knew exactly why Daryl had reacted that way, but he could only assume it had something to do with the fact that he hadn't been able to stop thinking about and talking about Lori wanting a divorce, possibly for real this time, throughout his visit. But it'd only been on his mind because he was hopeful, probably a misplaced emotion if Daryl's reaction – or lack thereof- was anything to go by, that divorcing Lori meant he could be with Daryl properly, as in, a relationship.

Not an open, in everyone's face, sort of deal, no, because Rick wasn't ready to be 'gay', but just enough of a relationship that he wouldn't be lying to Lori or anyone else anymore, he wouldn't have to make excuses for going out or being late, or have to hide marks made on his skin during the course of sex. Because it didn't matter that Lori ' _knew'_ he was cheating, and he knew she was too, it mattered that they didn't rub it in one another's faces. Because that was the decent thing to do, right? Rick figured it was.

But now it didn't seem to matter either way, because Daryl hadn't seemed even remotely moved by the idea of being together with Rick exclusively, in fact, he'd seemed distinctly disinterested in the idea.

Frustrated and feeling a bit lost, Rick had sent him another message just before he'd entered the showers, a simple: _'I'm sorry if I upset you'._

Presently Rick decided he'd stood under the water for long enough that every soap and shampoo sud was rinsed away, so he switched the water off and ran his hands over his face and then back through his short tightly curled hair, water sliding down the back of his neck under the press of his hands.

It took some effort to keep his eyes open, having sex before a night shift when he hadn't slept the night before or even taken a nap during the day was not helping with his recent bouts of insomnia and resulting sleep deprivation, it was only making it worse really. He would like to have thought it'd been worth it, after all, the sex was always great, but considering the way things had ended, Rick felt exactly the opposite.

He wasn't sure he regretted going to see Daryl in general, or if he just regretted having talked about Lori and divorce and that he had said things that meant 'I love you' without having actually said it…

Because, yes, Rick was in love with Daryl, he knew he probably had been for longer than he'd even realized it.

He shook his head slowly as he stepped out of the shower cubicle, grabbing the towel he'd hung nearby and dabbing it over his face, hair and chest before wrapping it around his narrow waist. After grabbing his shampoo and soap, he walked through the empty bathroom toward the lockers and benches. As he passed Shane's cage locker, Rick gave it a brief glare, thinking of how Shane had the nerve to act like he wasn't a guilty party in everything.

Shane tried to make Rick feel guilty about sleeping with Daryl with every single look he gave him, whenever he got the damn chance, as if he were completely innocent. It really riled Rick up, usually he was so carefully passive but today was just turning out to be a fucked up day of note and his temper was all over the place.

He stopped at his own previously opened cage locker, in which his spare uniform and some other clothes changes were hung and folded, along with some toiletries, a pair of boots, his gun, his gun belt, badge and hat were kept. He had left his cellphone in the locker before going to shower and he picked it up first thing, unlocking the screen and hoping to see a message from Daryl.

But there were none.

Rick clenched his jaw and dropped his phone somewhat harshly back onto the steel shelf beside his Magnum before he grabbed his underarm deodorant and screwed the cap off, rolling the sticky substance into his armpits as he ground his teeth together, eyes steely with anger, glaring into his locker.

He was torn between thinking that Daryl had overreacted –without really reacting- to Rick's expression of feelings or blaming himself for expressing anything at all. And all the while Rick's justified inclination to be angry at Daryl was conflicted by the recent memory of Daryl beneath him, above him, around him, tight and hot and slick with sweat and arching into him, so gorgeous…and Rick just realized how _whipped_ he sounded to himself and he blushed faintly.

He wasn't even able to be angry at Daryl because he was hooked on the gorgeous younger man.

Younger…much younger than Rick. Daryl had never said his age, Rick had never outright asked either, but Rick had checked him out on the police system using his license plate number.

Daryl was only a few months shy of turning 23.

Rick was 36.

He'd never allowed himself to entertain the idea that his affair with the younger man was some sort of early life-crisis, because Rick had never considered cheating before he'd met Daryl Dixon, it wasn't some distraction from getting older or from his marriage. But still, he could see how other people would perceive it, how Shane probably perceived it. Shane who Rick knew only kept his secret about Daryl from Lori because he had his own secrets to protect and guilt to nurse.

Rick took ten minutes to dress, head to toe in full uniform, everything in place except for his hat which he carried in his hand, cell phone in the other, as he made his way back into the office area of the police station. Stanley, the other officer on duty, gave Rick a quick smile before going back to reading a magazine where he sat at his desk.

Rick had nodded, but didn't smile back as he walked in the direction of the small kitchenette to get himself some coffee. He only hoped he had some work to do waiting on his desk, because if not, the few hours he had to spend on shift were going to be way too long.

* * *

Rick was sitting at his desk in the empty police station hours later, in his silent office staring at a bright, idle computer screen and hoping the phone wouldn't ring –which it probably wouldn't. Just as he'd expected, he had no work to do and now he had to endure a long shift of thinking and over thinking his feelings and problems and god dammit, Daryl still hadn't texted him back.

It made Rick wonder what Daryl was doing right then, if he'd gone out, or was asleep, or maybe he was just outright ignoring Rick's texts. He was tempted to try calling, but he couldn't muster up the nerve he would need to face a possible deliberate cutting of his call. Rick swallowed tensely as he leaned back in his chair, pursing his lips and closing his eyes at the upsetting idea of Daryl hanging up on him, avoiding him, abruptly cutting him out of his life. And all because Rick had talked about divorce, a divorce that wasn't even his idea and fuck it, he didn't even know if Lori had been serious, even though she had sounded it, and yet he'd possibly fucked up what he had with Daryl over it.

Rick pressed his fingers into his eyes as he tried to clear his head, trying to think of something to do to ease his anxiousness and anger. There was a time when he and Shane would always be on shift together, so he'd have had something to keep him distracted, occupied. But since he and Shane no longer bothered to coordinate their shifts or even really make an effort to pretend to be friends, it left Rick with only Stanley, who was probably asleep at his desk, when he was supposed to be manning the reception and occasionally checking on their over nighters, if they even had anyone in lock up. Rick had no idea.

Aside from Stanley's likely uninteresting conversational skills, Rick only had solitaire and minesweeper to pass the time, which were not major contenders for things to do to distract himself.

Recently, it had been being able to think about _Daryl_ was a great way to pass time, thinking about his blue-blue eyes, his untidy short brown hair, his crooked smile and gravelly voice. Thinking of the feel of his hands, the softness of his lips, the taste of his mouth, his skin, his sweat…his sex. The image of his lithe, long, pale body under Rick's eager hands, letting Rick touch him _anywhere_ he wanted, anyhow too. Those were the thoughts that often kept Rick awake –and _up -_ and feeling like he would get through his unpredictable shifts of late without banging his head against the wall or falling asleep on duty.

But right then they only served to stress him out, thinking of Daryl's unimpressed expression, of his nonchalant words, thinking of the fact that he may never get to touch or kiss Daryl again.

Rick leaned his elbows on his desk as he sat forward with a heavy sigh, glancing at the coffee cup beside him, which was still full of the awful tasting coffee he'd retrieved from the kitchen hours ago, the liquid had long since turned cold. He had a game of solitaire open at the moment which had been timing itself away and so Rick clicked at his mouse, moving cards around on his computer monitor aimlessly and setting himself up for another loss as his mind went back and forth over what had happened with Daryl.

He still had the image in his mind from earlier of Daryl straddling him, leaning over him after the younger man had pulled his jeans back on and had crawled onto the bed again. Daryl wasn't self-conscious of nudity, not of his own and definitely not of Rick's. He also wasn't shy, not of Rick's hands, his mouth, his touch or his increasing desires. Daryl was sexually liberal, if not borderline hedonistic. Whatever the term, basically he was incredibly open minded…considering what Rick was used to at least.

Daryl had really opened Rick's eyes when it came to sex, Daryl who liked to be touched, sucked, bitten and teased, to be pushed, hurt a little, talked dirty to, he liked to experiment with _all_ positions, he liked to explore with teeth and nails and he'd never said no to anything Rick had wanted to try since they'd been sleeping together.

He'd simply smile, sometimes almost condescendingly as if Rick were a novice, which was sort of the case. But he was receptive to it, to whatever Rick wanted and sometimes Rick wondered about just how receptive Daryl could be and how experienced he probably was sexually…

…but then he'd stop himself, because he **didn't** want to think of it. He didn't want to know.

Rick curled his hand over the mouse into a loose fist as he stared at the screen telling him that he had no more moves to play, but he was thinking about how good it felt to run his hand down the length of Daryl's lean muscled torso, to trace his collar bone with kisses, to tease his nipples with teeth, to trail his tongue along the median line of Daryl's abdomen, into his navel, through his hair line, down to his intimate areas and just _everywhere_.

Rick exhaled heavily as he placed his head in his hands and thought of the fact that he'd fucked Daryl without a condom earlier that evening. His brain had been yelling at him to consider how irresponsible it was at the time, but his feelings for Daryl had been telling him it was a step closer to more intimacy between them, and his dick had agreed all too readily. It had been so good too, so silky and always tighter than fucking Lori had ever been, so warm as well and without the latex it had been so much more textured.

He realized then that he didn't even feel bad for thinking of Lori and sex with her in such a detached manner, not in the way he used to feel guilty and cruel. Because now Lori –and Shane- were just topics of thought he steadily avoided thinking about when he could and if they did come to mind, his bitterness toward them made it easier not to care.

And yet, just a few months ago, that had been his life. Lori had still been important not too long ago, hadn't she?

He and Lori had been doing all they could to manage their growing problems and distance from one another, they'd been seeing a marriage counselor in between seeing separate therapists, they'd been double dating with couple friends, planning date nights and sex nights and talk nights, redecorating their home, moving furniture around all the time, trying to make the space they shared with one another more bearable to live in.

But nothing had been working.

And then Daryl Dixon had come into their lives.

He should have been unremarkable, he should have just been a young man, dressed down in dark colors, baggy, worn clothes hiding a skinny body, not even particularly well groomed or properly postured, not really all that polite either, because that had been what he'd looked and acted like. And yet Daryl hadn't been just that, not for Rick.

Lori had looked at Daryl and decided she wanted the inside and outside of the house repainted, the grey-green color outside and the soft pastels inside the house had become an eyesore to her, she wanted something bolder, brighter, eye catching, had asked him what his ideas were.

They'd talked to one another as Rick watched and Daryl had offered very vague opinions, he'd said he wasn't a decorator, _'I just bring the paint'_ he'd joked. He'd smiled in his crooked way and Lori had laughed, pretending to be charmed. Lori had just seen an unremarkable young man who was humoring her about paint swatches…but Rick had seen **Daryl**.

Not sexually at first, no, obviously, because he'd never even _considered_ a man that way.

With Daryl, at first it was more because he'd come into their home with an easy demeanor, unobtrusive and not forward. He'd been a neutral party, someone who at the time, would become a part of their day to day lives for however long it'd take him to paint their house and Rick had thought it would keep himself and Lori from fighting like cats and dogs and maybe it would help them to learn how to get along, how to be civil.

Lori had sometimes thought a baby might fill that role, but Rick thought an objective stranger could serve the same purpose without all the extra trouble and money that came with having kids.

That wasn't what happened though.

Daryl didn't remain a stranger, instead he became a person that Rick _and_ Lori talked to and didn't mind the company of, whether the other was in the room or not. It didn't bother Rick that Daryl had seemed fond of Lori, about as fond of her as he'd been of Rick himself at first. Rick had actually thought it was good that he and Lori had someone they both liked to be around besides Shane, who was too close to them in too many ways.

Ways that made Rick suspicious–certain- that Shane was the person Lori was now sleeping with.

Even that, the fact that she was probably cheating on him, or definitely, whichever, it didn't bother Rick like it should have, like it should bother a husband who still shared a –cold- bed with his wife. He wasn't completely immune to the indignity of it, the insult, the betrayal, all of those things, but since he was doing the same to her and he'd become all too invested in Daryl, all too _in love_ , Rick continually told himself to accept it from her because he was doing the same thing.

It was messed up, and it did hurt to think that Shane, his best friend, was sleeping with his wife.

Rick truly felt he might have cared less, maybe not cared at all, if he'd thought Lori was sleeping with someone he didn't know so personally, not Shane, who he'd believed was his brother in every way besides blood.

Rick swallowed tensely and dragged his hands over his face, his eyes scanning over his desk on which he'd used to have a picture of himself and Lori and one of himself and Shane from when they'd graduated from the academy together years ago. With a firm shake of his head, he reached for his coffee, forgetting it was cold as he took a sip and grimaced in disgust right after at the cold, weak substance.

"God, that's horrible." He muttered to himself and stood up, wiping a hand over his mouth as he took a slow walk to the small kitchenette. Once there he leaned against the counter as he poured the coffee down the drain of the sink and glanced at the coffee machine.

Stanley had obviously made the coffee. The only two people who made decent coffee at the station was a woman named Anne and Shane, even Rick could never get the measurements right, not that he ever really tried. It was always too weak or too strong when anyone but Anne and Shane made it. In Stanley's case, far too weak.

Rick sighed heavily as he turned around and leaned his lower back against the sink counter, thinking of Shane despite not wanting to, thinking of the look of _disgust_ he'd had on face that day he'd caught Rick cheating, when he'd shoved the bedroom door open and had seen Daryl, naked and unashamed, in the bed.

In hindsight, that had probably been all the reason Shane ever needed to move in on Lori.

And Rick honestly couldn't blame Shane for being in love with her, he'd loved Lori once too, just not anymore.

Rick wondered right then with a confused frown on his face and for the first time since his 'revelation', whether he was actually in love with Daryl. It definitely felt like it, felt stronger than anything he'd ever felt for Lori, which was why he considered it to be love. It made sense to him that way.

He didn't think Daryl was in love with him, in fact, he knew Daryl wasn't. Daryl was always fairly straightforward without ever actually saying anything when it came to showing just where he stood with Rick.

Rick also knew from Daryl's evasions, unimpressed stares and vague answers to serious questions and conversations, that he wasn't interested in there being anything official between them. Daryl seemed to be in it for the occasional company and the sex. Even with kissing, he only liked to kiss separately from sex up to a point before he'd start to remove his own clothes or Rick's.

Kissing was never anything more than foreplay and Daryl wasn't a fan of cuddling after sex or pillow talk either.

Rick knew these things, he saw it plainly, no matter how many times he looked for signs of something more, he knew Daryl didn't want any sort of commitment. And it hurt…and he felt like it hurt because he was in love with Daryl and wanted more with and from the younger man. Younger.

Maybe Daryl just wasn't ready to 'settle down' whereas Rick was passed the point in his life where 'no strings attached' sounded appealing. And now Lori wanted a divorce and earlier when he'd been at Daryl's, said man had made it clear without many words, that he wouldn't have any part in Rick's divorce and then he'd brushed Rick off without even a hint of remorse or sadness. And Rick knew, though he wanted to deny it, that Daryl was not interested in having anything to do with 'divorcee Rick' in general.

Daryl wanted no strings attached.

 _'_ _And as long as I'm married I can't be attached to him seriously, but the second I'm not married anymore…'_ Rick thought bitterly, shaking his head and clenching his hands on the edge of the counter either side of him.

He wasn't stupid, he knew how Daryl's mind worked, at least with regards to himself.

And yet Rick couldn't help wanting to appeal to Daryl, to make things right…so that he could see Daryl the next day and lose himself inside of Daryl, literally and figuratively because the younger man was just that encompassing, even just to look at. So pretty yet not, so passive yet not, so warm to touch, yet somehow not warm at all.

A warm body but a cold interior.

Sex and love were two different things in the end.

Rick understood that.

Daryl wanted sex while Rick had fallen in love with him and held onto foolish hope.

It was a mess, Rick's life was a mess.

He forced his thoughts away from Daryl -for a moment- and thought of Lori, of the angry resignation he'd seen in her eyes earlier that day when she'd started spitting accusations about his 'side slut' at him and then the shock and shame he'd seen on her face when he'd thrown her own extramarital affair back at her.

And Shane had stood there quietly, witness to it just as Rick had hoped he'd be someday. He'd stood silent, looking as stunned as Lori but also disbelieving, no doubt he'd been bitter at Rick for being so blunt about his affair with Lori when Rick was off having his own and Shane _knew_ , but wouldn't tell her.

All of the lies and secrets were piling up and just as Rick had said to Daryl earlier, he expected at some point it would come to a head and all of the ugliness everyone was bottling up would spill over, it'd make even more of a mess when it did.

…and so easily Rick was back to thinking about Daryl, no longer wondering if Daryl would stay with him when that day came, when life became chaotic and filled with fights, resentment, anger and lawyers, but now dealing with the sinking, upsetting knowledge that Daryl wouldn't stick around during or after Rick's more than likely inevitable divorce.

Was it really over? Or was it _possible_ that Daryl was just a little put off?

Rick didn't know, but he also kind of did, because something about the way Daryl would stare at him when he said certain things was a big tell. It was as if any words that held emotional weight, affection or implied commitment were triggers that made Daryl shut down.

Rick hated that he felt like it was over.

He remembered a long time ago when he'd gone to see an out of town therapist after his local personal therapist started to sound like a bias quack, taking Lori's side about _everything_ even when she'd never met Lori. Rick had terminated his status with her as a patient and had taken a drive out to see someone else and he'd been surprised by the seriousness of the counsel he'd received.

\- _'_ _You've known your wife for too long and you know her too well, so every conversation the two of you have is never simple because neither of you ever say what you mean, even when you think you are. You trigger each other's tempers, unconsciously play on one another's emotional weaknesses. You're fighting even before you realize that you are.'_

If Rick put part of that scenario into a context about Daryl, then he'd assume that Daryl felt like he was being lured into commitment by even the most subtle, unintentional mention of a relationship from Rick, who was unaware that he was even bringing it up half of the time. And Daryl had probably gotten to know him well enough to detect his ill-hidden meaning and desires and so he'd built up an automatic shutdown response to it. And Rick had really laid it on thick earlier, more so than usual.

Rick was no psychiatrist though, so he didn't know if it made any sense to apply what a shrink had said to him about his wife to what was going on with him and Daryl.

All he knew was that he'd become far more invested in Daryl than was mutual. Honestly, he thought about Daryl at least ninety percent of the time and he couldn't remember ever thinking of Lori that much. He'd loved Lori very deeply, very really loved her, but he'd never _craved_ her, never felt the need to touch her as slowly as he sometimes wanted to touch Daryl, just to savor it.

And yet he'd been straight all of his life and Daryl wasn't a woman, yes, he was attractive, but he wasn't feminine in any way and the kind of beauty Lori had was so vastly different from the type of attractive that was Daryl, they were completely opposed. There was just something about Daryl that Rick was unable to describe, even to this day…ever since that first time Daryl had winked at him across the living room when he'd caught Rick unconsciously staring at him.

Even back then, before Rick had felt much of anything but general curiosity toward the younger man, his heart had raced and his stomach had wound itself in knots because of that wink. He'd been leaning in the doorway and just watching Daryl mix the paints, creating a color Lori had called 'babouche', which as far as Rick could tell was just a very bright yellow. Daryl had been wearing baggy gray, paint stained jeans and a faded black tank shirt, crouching down with a mixing stick trapped between his teeth and the sound of the paint tarps beneath his boots crumpling with every movement he made as he added measured amounts of one type of yellow paint into another can.

When Daryl had glanced up and spotted him, he hadn't even had any particular expression on his face, all it had taken was wink, and Rick had felt his ears start to burn for no apparent reason. He'd averted his eyes immediately and tried to act casual as he'd looked around the half painted living room, heart racing inexplicably.

He'd assumed it was from embarrassment at the time, but now he knew it had been the first sparks of attraction.

In that moment, his world had started to spin off its axis, gradually gravitating toward Daryl and his impressive centripetal force. And after that, there had been a series of firsts and strangeness and amazements for Rick, which had started not long after he'd asked Daryl to have a beer with him a few days later.

There'd been his first kiss –with a man- boldly had in Rick's back yard while Lori had been out at the grocer one Saturday morning. Rick had been watering the plants, staring again at Daryl –who had become a sort of friend by that point- who'd been adjusting a ladder against the back wall of the house. Daryl had caught him staring again and Rick had blushed that time, feeling stupid. And he'd panicked slightly when Daryl had stopped what he was doing and walked over to him, Rick nervously expecting a question or an accusation, but then without a word or any warning, he'd leaned in and kissed Rick square on the mouth. Once –lingering- and purposefully.

When he thought about it after, Rick hadn't been sure whether he should have expected it, thought maybe he'd missed a sign or a flirt, or a look of _that_ sort of interest from Daryl, but at the time all he'd been aware of was that Daryl's lips had not been dry or chapped, but instead moist, soft and slightly parted. He'd left the intended wet of his saliva on Rick's mouth with an audible kissing sound as he'd drawn back and Rick had absently followed his smoke laced lips. Daryl had only smirked at his reaction and then he'd kissed Rick again, kissed him **proper**.

It had been a sheer _miracle_ that the neighbors hadn't seen it happen.

And then, a short time after Daryl's work of painting the house had concluded, they'd still been seeing one another –kissing more and more in secret, whenever they were alone- and there'd been the first sexual touch from Daryl, which had taken place in Daryl's truck at the end of a night, after they'd gone out for beers. They'd been about to head home, car keys in the ignition, when Daryl had placed his hand on Rick's mid-thigh and had slid it up and up until he'd been cupping, massaging and rubbing at Rick's stiffening cock through his jeans…a minute later, right there in the truck, technically in public, parked on the curb down the street from a bar at roughly 11 PM, Daryl had given Rick the best blow job of his life.

And Rick hadn't even cared that he was cop and that he should _not_ have been putting himself in such a compromising and illegal position.

It had gone on that way for a few weeks, different scenarios of kiss and touch and lesser acts of sex between them, Daryl encouraging, Rick learning, until Rick had inevitably found himself in Daryl's bed after having experienced his first tryout of homosexual sex, anal sex in general really, because he'd _never_ done that with Lori.

They'd been at Daryl's apartment, making out on the sofa and after having had a few beers, Daryl had been settled almost comfortably on his knees between Rick's legs, sucking Rick's brains out through his cock at a wet, leisurely, indulgent pace, which had been arousingly obscene in its exhibitionism. And after a particularly lengthy stretch of Daryl bobbing and sucking and teasing, Rick had taken several delirious seconds to realize that Daryl's hand had replaced his mouth and that Daryl was watching himself stroking Rick's cock slowly.

The younger man's next words were made with sudden serious eye contact, Daryl had said _'I want you ta' fuck from behind.'_ , voice gruff, lips red and wet and his statement leaving no room for discussion. _A_ nd Rick, unable to form anything even close to words and uneducated to the ways of homosexual sex back then, remembered thinking _'Is there any other way to do it?'_.

He hadn't asked that question though, at the time he'd just about managed not to trip over his jeans and underwear around his ankles when he rushed to follow Daryl's abrupt lead toward the bedroom.

And after that first time, Rick had learned just how many positions there were in which he could fuck Daryl.

Because Daryl always wanted to be fucked, always taking bottom…and Rick had no complaints about that.

Daryl seemed to like it that way and Rick liked it too.

Rick honestly hadn't looked back since. He had no regrets. He'd do it all again.

It was almost dangerous for Rick how taken he was with Daryl because-

"Rick?" Stanley's voice made Rick's head snap up from where his gaze had been set unblinkingly on his scuffed boots. He'd been standing in the kitchenette, spaced out on his thoughts all that time. As he blinked and focused on the shorter man, Rick's self-imposed background noise cleared and he was able to hear the office phone ringing, "You want me to get that?" Stanley asked with a gesture of his head toward the offices, he was frowning slightly.

Rick inhaled deeply and shook his head as he pushed himself off from the counter, briefly pressing his finger and thumb into his shadowed eyes before he looked at Stanley again,

"Uh, no, no, that's alright, thanks Stan, I'll get it." He said in a slightly hoarse tone as he walked by the other cop, patting the man on the shoulder before he made his way to answer his stupid desk phone.

Straight after he hung up his desk phone, Rick checked his cellphone and there were still no messages from Daryl. Rick nearly threw his phone across the office in frustration, but he managed to contain his anger and instead took a few a deep breaths to calm down and then he went to leave in response to the call out he'd received across town.

* * *

It was 2.22 AM when Rick pulled into the driveway of the house he shared with Lori.

The streets of their neighborhood were dead silent and only the crickets chirping could be heard once he stepped out of his car into the warm night air.

He was even more exhausted and irritable after having responded to the phone call, he'd had to drive out _15 minutes_ before his shift ended just to deal with a noise complaint made about a _bar_ , of all places. The town was so small and _safe_ that even their criminals were too listless to act up most of the time, let alone the average citizens and the bar hadn't even been all that rowdy, there'd been no fighting either. Basically it'd been a waste of time.

But at least Rick hadn't had to go back to the station after that, he'd just left the bar and went straight home.

He sighed presently as he shut the door to his car and locked it before making his way around to the back entrance of the house. Rick let himself in quietly, knowing Lori was probably asleep, hoping so actually. He passed through the unlit kitchen and walked into the dark living room where he clicked on the light. Rick cast a lazy glance over the always too neat space, every cushion was properly in place, it smelled freshly fragranced and crisply clean. Lori had always been a neat freak.

Rick shook his head slightly and then turned around to go back to the kitchen, his mind –so tired of running through his problems- finally did something useful and reminded him that he was hungry and suggested he should get something to eat since he hadn't eaten all day. He walked toward the fridge and on his way flipped the light switch on. Rick was planning on having some leftovers from supper the night before but he slowed walking when he was a few feet from the fridge because he noticed a piece of paper stuck under a magnet with his name written on it in black sharpie. Once he'd come close enough, Rick plucked the hand written note out from under the magnet and stared at it. It read, in unnecessary black caps: _Rick, if you're awake before I am, get me up. We need to talk about our divorce first thing._

It was written in Lori's handwriting, intentionally capitalized so he wouldn't miss it and bluntly worded, about as blunt as she usually was when actually talking to him. Rick felt irritation and anger crawl up his throat, his bad mood from that afternoon returning to him full force. He snorted derisively as he crumpled the note in his hand and went over to the dustbin to throw it away, tossing it into the stainless steel can a bit harder than was necessary. In the back of his mind, Rick wondered why the fuck Lori had been **so** tired that she might get up later that he would, especially considering what time he came home and would be going to bed.

It wasn't as if she spent her days doing anything especially physically taxing…

Rick blinked and then blinked a few more times as he considered that particular detail in the note more closely. And then he frowned when an idea of _why_ she was so fucking tired popped into his head and he clenched his jaw tightly, sighing heavily as he shoved the thought out of his head just as quickly as it had entered.

Rick left the kitchen then, no longer very hungry, he headed back into the living room and stopped for a moment just inside the doorway to run his hand through his hair. It felt good to drag his nails over his scalp and without meaning to, he thought of Daryl with his hands tangled in Rick's hair and tugging, scraping, gripping his fingers into the short curls roughly.

And then an image from that afternoon flashed into Rick's mind, vivid and sharp: Daryl on his back, legs spread wide, shaking thighs either side of Rick's head as he worked Daryl's asshole open, getting him wet with his tongue –licking, sucking, probing, spitting, exhaling, kissing. The memory of Daryl's gorgeous body stretched across the bed in a slight arch, a filthy smile on his face as he moaned and rolled his hips downward against Rick's mouth, one of his arms tucked under his head while his free hand was clenched into Rick's hair tightly…

Rick dragged a hand over his face, muffling a soft groan as his skin flushed hotly from his spiking arousal. He adjusted his rapidly forming erection in his uniform pants with the same hand and then he glanced around the living room, trying not to think anymore about Daryl and then his eyes landed on the liquor cabinet across the room and an idea came to him.

Rick wasn't a big drinker, especially not of distilled liquors but right then, the idea of drowning his thoughts of divorce and of possibly not seeing his lover ever again, seemed like a brilliant idea. He licked his lips absently as he walked nearer to the cabinet, second guessing himself for a moment and thinking over whether he should or shouldn't get right fucking drunk and just pass out, maybe sleep his last few nights of insomnia and stress off.

The hangover would suck, but at least he'd have made up for some sleepless hours. He came to stand at the cabinet and he absently dropped his key set –he'd forgotten he was holding it all along- onto the wooden counter surface before he pulled one side of the double doors open. Rick scanned over the relatively impressive collection of bottles, tilting his head thoughtfully at everything he'd accumulated, mostly from gifts over the years, -birthdays, anniversaries, Christmases, promotions. There was a little something of everything in there, except for wine, which Lori kept in the pantry and went through like it was water.

Or at least she had used to before she'd started fucking Shane, now Rick noticed most days she seemed to get through without even a sip, except for at dinner time and even then she only had one glass with her meal. Rick wondered if she'd thought he wouldn't notice that she didn't drink to ease her woes anymore, because maybe she didn't have quite as many to wallow over. But Rick did, dammit.

He sighed again as he moved a few bottles aside, looking for what he remembered was a near full bottle of Jack Daniels he'd last seen in the cabinet, deciding surely to get drunk since as far as he knew he didn't have another shift until Monday so he had the freedom to drink himself to sleep.

But when he found the Jack he paused before taking it out of the cupboard, frowning as he looked at the halfway empty bottle before he picked it up. Rick worked his jaw as he considered the bottle he held in his hand, he knew Lori hated hard liquor, the last time she'd had a taste of neat whiskey she'd nearly gagged, before that she'd had the same reaction to tasting Vodka. So what explanation would there be for half a bottle of Jack disappearing when it'd been untouched since he'd put it there after his birthday months and months ago?

Just like with the note, where Lori had unintentionally given Rick the impression she might sleep late because she was knackered from sex, he couldn't help thinking… _knowing_ , that someone else had been drinking his alcohol.

Lori's _someone_.

Rick raised his eyes to the cabinet and before he even reached up to move the bottles again he spotted a very expensive bottle of Glenlivit that he'd only sampled _once,_ which seemed to be a double shot less.

He _knew_ that it had to be Lori's lover dipping into his collection. After all, it hadn't been him and it hadn't been Daryl, Rick knew that because in all the time he'd known the younger man, whenever he'd offered Daryl hard liquor, nine times out of ten, Daryl declined, said he preferred beer. For a second Rick thought 'it can't be Shane' because the only time Shane had had alcohol from that cabinet was when Rick would offer it to him. But then Rick's momentary denial passed and the thought of 'it has to be Shane' was like a whirlwind in his mind when he recalled how much Shane liked whiskey, he always had.

And if Lori was offering, probably _knowing_ how infrequently Rick actually ventured into his liquor cabinet, then there was no doubt Shane was accepting. Rick clutched the neck of the Jack Daniels bottle tightly in his hand as he sneered to himself, turning around slowly to look over the living room and blinking a few times as he pictured Lori and Shane sitting on the couch and kissing –just the way he and Daryl kissed there- before they'd make their way to the bedroom –just as he and Daryl often did- and there they'd fuck each other. It was probably the same.

Rick knew he shouldn't be angry to think of Shane fucking Lori in _his_ bed, because that's exactly where Shane had caught him fucking Daryl, but it made no difference, Rick was silently fuming anyway, free hand clenched into a white knuckled fist at his side.

He swallowed tensely and walked over to the three seat sofa as he screwed off the bottle cap with a few swirls of his fingers. Rick took a swig straight from the bottle, fuck a glass, and he grimaced at the not too familiar burn.

He flopped into the middle of the couch, taking another swig from the bottle, just as much of a gulp as before and then he leaned forward to pick up the TV remote from where it sat on the coffee table.

Getting drunk wasn't a responsible idea, he knew, it wasn't even a helpful one, it wouldn't really achieve anything except causing his anger to fester and his coherence to swim and blur. But seeing as how Rick had to face a discussion about divorce in the morning, on top of the fact that Daryl had very probably decided they were over and now, to top it off, the infuriating suspicions he had of Shane having been there recently, probably just a few hours earlier, fucking Lori under that very roof…getting drunk was just something he _felt_ like doing.

Because his life was falling apart and it was **all** Lori's fault. Lori, for starting an argument that afternoon, saying she wanted a divorce, which drove Rick to go to Daryl, made him say all those foolish things to his younger lover. Lori for fucking his best friend, for doing it right there in their house, in _Rick's_ house. Lori for leaving that blunt note, as if she couldn't have tried not to fuck up his day any worse by ending it on that note and making him dread the morning to come.

All Lori's fucking fault.

Yes, Rick wanted to get pissed drunk.

And so he did.

* * *

Rick probably would have never remembered texting Daryl a capitalized _'I love you'_ once he'd been near the bottom of the bottle. He only discovered he had the following morning, after slowly sitting up on the sofa with a massive headache and the sun bleeding in through the white curtains making his eyes burn. His phone alarm was going off so damn loud that he nearly yelled out loud for it to shut the fuck up.

But somewhere in his hungover brain, he'd been aware of how stupid that would have been, so he didn't even open his mouth for anything other than a throaty, pained groan as he forced his eyes open.

Rick failed to keep them open long enough to actually locate the phone, but once he fell off the sofa onto the phone –the floor too mind you-, he groaned again at how the impact jarred his sore head before he slowly shifted to get his hands underneath his chest, where the phone vibrated with a now muffled tone, so he could turn the noise _off_.

Seconds later, when he'd finally shut the alarm off, Rick rolled onto his back on the floor and he laid there for a while with one arm over his eyes and the other at his side, his phone loosely held in the hand rested on his stomach.

Minutes passed that way and only when his cognitive processes managed to start up and make sense over the incessant pounding in his head, did Rick wonder what time it was. And then he wondered where Lori was, considering how loudly his alarm had been going off, she should have woken up and come into the living room already to start spitting venom at him for getting drunk. Strange.

Because no matter how tired she was -or how thoroughly fucked- she'd never slept so dead that a loud and consistent noise wouldn't wake her.

Rick frowned and sighed heavily and just then his phone buzzed against his stomach, so he shifted his arm from his face and raised the cellphone into his line of sight, opening his eyes belatedly to actually see the phone. Rick unlocked the screen and then opened the unread message he'd received, seeing that it was from one of their 'couple friends' husband's, asking about a double date sometime. That idea brought back the stinging reality of divorce, the imminent end of his marriage, and so Rick thought of Lori and her affair, which all too easily made him think of Daryl…and that was when he saw it, the text conversation bar beneath the latest one he'd received.

Outgoing, it read, - I LOVE YOU- and nothing else, just that.

Rick felt winded by the weight of his stupidity when it sunk in that he'd sent those words in a text to Daryl.

He'd texted the exact thing he'd been trying to not actually, plainly say to the man in weeks.

"Fuck…" Rick took in a breath and knocked his head back onto the wooden floor, "… ** _fuck_**." The second time he cussed was because his head throbbed and ached from the small thud.

There was no reply to the message and it was after 11 AM, if Daryl had been going to answer any of Rick's messages, he would have already.

Shit, if Rick had thought he'd had any chance of gaining Daryl's interest again, he knew now that he'd fucked it up for good. There was no taking those words back. That mistake was final.

And Rick was too tired to even feel angry right then, he'd spent all night/early morning hours being angry and resentful and hateful and now he didn't have any energy left. He let his head rest on the floor for a moment and then cursed under his breath once softly before he forced himself to sit up, despite how heavy his head felt.

He also completely forgot about his usual habitual action of deleting messages to or from Daryl.

His head –and chest- hurt too much to focus on anything else right then.

Rick was up on his feet a minute later, unsteadily, when he glanced around the living room and it occurred to him properly that it was almost noon. If he hadn't seen the time on his phone, he could have guessed by how warm it was in the closed up house. It was really strange that Lori hadn't found him lying passed out drunk on the sofa, she still hadn't woken and it was _late_ , late enough for her to have slept in if she'd indeed been tired out the day before.

Rick frowned, nearly shaking his head but then he remembered how much that would hurt, so instead he glanced down at the floor and he spotted the empty bottle of Jack lying on its side next to the couch.

From there he started to assess his surroundings, starting with himself. He noticed his boots were off and he wiggled his sock clad toes as he glanced around until he spotted them, or at least the toe end of one sticking out from under the sofa, lying on its side just like the bottle of Jack. He didn't recall taking his shoes off.

It took him a glance behind himself at the sofa to spot his other boot sitting askew on the couch near the end. Rick blinked slowly, raising his eyebrows and sighing to himself when he figured he'd probably drunkenly tried to kick them off his feet at some point.

Aside from his boots though, he was still fully clothed, uniform very wrinkled and permeating the smell of whiskey, which means he'd probably spilled some Jack on himself. Rick looked around some more and then he noticed that the living room light was still on, which meant that maybe Lori hadn't even come through the lounge at any point.

It took a few seconds before he frowned deeply and swallowed thickly, the revelation hitting him that Lori may not have even been home the night before, she may have gone out, may have gone to her lover or maybe…maybe she'd just _gone_.

Maybe she'd left him.

But then…she'd left that note for him to wake her…?

 _'_ _Maybe she left this morning, maybe she saw me lying here passed out and just left…'_ because why else wouldn't she have woken him up rudely and noisily, that was what Lori would usually have done.

Rick clenched his jaw and ran a hand through his untidy curls, feeling a cold weight settle in his stomach as he absently unlocked his phone again, he'd nearly forgotten he was holding it, and then he speed dialed Shane's number. Because that's where his mind told him Lori would be.

At the same time as the call was connecting, Rick walked in the direction of the front hallway, which led to the bedrooms, his legs carrying him mostly steadily as he placed the phone to his ear, licking his lips, wondering, worrying. It would be too abrupt if she'd just left and Rick suddenly wanted to _talk_ to her about the divorce, maybe even argue, maybe even come to some kind of an agreement, something, anything that wasn't so…final, cold and inconclusive.

Damn Lori and her selfishness.

Shane's number rang and rang as Rick neared his bedroom, his footsteps evenly paced, not too fast because he was dizzy and even though the house was so quiet, his ears were ringing. The call diverted to voicemail just as Rick opened the closed main bedroom door. He'd lowered his eyes to his phone as he ended the call, pausing in the doorway of the room because he felt like he couldn't walk and look at his phone at the same time.

And as he was about to reattempt the call to Shane…it hit him.

The overwhelming, palpable, raw iron, choking smell of _blood…_ and the faintest hint of death...of on-setting decay…

Rick had already been queasy upon waking, but his stomach lurched violently at the smell that assaulted him as he raised his eyes to look into the bedroom with a tense, twitching frown. He'd been confused by the smell –disturbed as well- but his reaction morphed into white cold horror as his eyes focused on the bed.

Rick's breath stuck in his throat, his mouth slowly fell open and all of his limbs went weak, limp enough that his phone fell to the wooden floor with a clatter. His entire body felt iced cold while his chest was on fire from not being able to inhale the smell and when he tried to take a step forward he nearly fell on his numb legs, just barely managing to stay on his feet and stumble to the bed.

To the bed…

To Lori...

To Lori's body.

Lori's **dead** body.

Rick managed out a strained, choked word, Lori's name, as he crawled unsteadily onto the bed with shaking limbs and saliva rushing to his mouth, the feeling threatening that he'd throw up as he kneeled beside her body and leaned over her. He was now able to breathe again, but it was erratic and his eyes had started to water.

Lori was laying on her back in the low center of the bed, toward the foot, her legs dangling off and partially spread and her arms were spread out on the bed at her sides at different angles as if they'd fallen that way. Her hair was a tangled mess and her pretty mouth was stiff and open…as were her wide, round eyes, staring unseeingly at the ceiling.

Without being able to calm his shuddering breathing, Rick rasped out her name again, louder that time as his hands hovered over her body…wanting to touch but not doing so because he didn't know if he could –should- touch her. He was a cop, he knew…he knew by the state of her body that she had been murdered and he knew, somewhere in the part of his mind that was seizing in shock and fear and sadness and pain, that he shouldn't contaminate the scene.

He was already too close to her, close enough to see how stark white her skin was, almost gray since what was likely most of her blood had soaked into the white duvet bed cover, leaving a slowly spread, large dark red stain surrounding her like a crooked, grim halo.

Rick started crying almost without even realizing it as he trailed his gaze from her open, glassy eyes to the wounds, multiple gaping linear **wounds** , in her chest and stomach. The wounds were the origin of all her bleeding, her blood seeping from the mutilations visible through and beneath her blue pajama top. Her blood had soaked far into her clothes, even staining her pajama pants and darkening and matting in her splayed brown hair.

And then there were the horrible bruised, dark purple-red strangulation marks on her throat.

Lori had been stabbed and strangled.

Rick absently touched her arm as he blinked tears out of his eyes and he felt that she was iced cold. His balance over her waned when he was hit with a new wave of nausea and he quickly turned, scrabbled and leaned off the side of the bed before he threw up violently onto the wooden floor.

And then he broke down, he sobbed loudly as liquid-like, primarily alcohol, vomit dribbled off his lips. Rick slowly pushed himself up and he kneeled on the bed as he continued to cry loudly, roughly wiping away the moisture from his trembling lips with the back of his hand. He turned back to Lori after a while and he touched her purposefully then, forgetting about the crime scene, he held her face for a few moments before gathering her in his arms and lifting her stiff body up by her shoulders and neck so that he could cradle her against his chest, whispering her name in between his sobs.

Rick shut his eyes tightly as he cried, unable to look at her anymore.

Oh God…she was dead. **Dead**.

It was all he could do, there was nothing else…it was too late to say _I'm sorry_ or _I love you_.

Lori was dead and it was _all_ he could do to cry for her.

* * *

When Rick finally returned to the 'here and now' from his aggrieved stupor, minutes…maybe an hour later, and his shaking had subsided to the occasional violent tremor, he'd set Lori's body back down on the bed almost just as he'd found her and then he'd practically fallen off the bed to get to his phone and to put some distance between himself and his dead wife.

His hands were stained with sticky traces of her blood and the stench of death hung thickly in the humid air of the unventilated bedroom so late on a hot day, he could almost taste it. Rick was still battling nausea but he hadn't had much to throw up to begin with. He kneeled on the floor near the door, where his phone had fallen and clattered apart and he put it back together shakily before he called his work number with twitchy, sticky fingers, leaving blood smears on the screen.

He hadn't processed everything yet but he **knew** he had to call the police.

Rick listened to the phone ring as he tried to take a steady breath despite his throat aching, and as if he weighed a ton, he shifted slowly until he was sitting with his back against the wall beside the door. He drew his legs up closer to him as a familiar voice answered the phone,

\- " _King County Sheriff's Department."_

Rick didn't feel relief, he only felt sicker as he stared at a point on the floor with dead eyes,

"Shane?" he asked hoarsely, the word almost not carrying loud enough.

There was a pause and then Shane sighed,

- _"Rick? Man, what the hell, I was trying to call you back-…"_ he started to say, sounding irritable but Rick didn't care, Rick needed to say the words just as badly as if he'd been puking them up involuntarily,

"Lori's dead." He said and barely registered how much pain and emotion was in his voice when he said it.

And then the tears started again.

- _"…-ot your voicema-…wait, what? What did you say?"_ Shane cut himself off abruptly and his voice sounded like Rick's statement had made him angry, his tone was clipped and harsh.

Rick pressed his head back against the wall, his trembling hand clutching the phone as he placed the wrist of his other hand onto his bent up knee and flexed his sticky, blood stained fingers. He took a moment of tense silence as he sniffed, warm tears trailing absently down his face,

"I said-said…Lori…" Rick took in a shuddering breath and focused his gaze on Lori's dead body across the room, pain shooting through his chest and abdomen all over again at the sight, "…Lori is…she…she's dead, Shane… she…" he couldn't get any more words out, and it hurt to swallow around the large lump in his throat.

Shane made a sound, indiscernible, but it could have been panic or disbelief, Rick was too far gone to tell, too shell-shocked to care,

- _"Rick…"_ Shane's heavy breathing, _"…Rick…what are you…man, what are you talking abo-…"_

Rick blinked and then clenched his eyes shut,

"…the house, come to the house…bring…bring the police…Shane…" Rick's voice broke around Shane's name and he shut his eyes tighter, hanging his head and holding back a sob, "…she's dead Shane." he repeated in a choked whisper…and then said it again, and again, losing count of how many times until he let the blood slicked phone slip from his hand, uncaring of the yells he could hear from Shane coming through the speaker.

* * *

It only took ten minutes or so for Shane to arrive at the house…but he came alone.

Rick stared at Shane from across the room, his blue eyes unblinking and emotionlessly set on his former friend as Shane stood beside the bed, not too close, just _staring_ at Lori's dead body. Not making a move toward her, not gasping, not shaking, not touching her, just staring with wide eyes and slightly escalated breathing, staring at her graying, bloody corpse.

Rick hadn't said a word to Shane, he'd stopped crying a little while ago and was starting to think a little clearer now. He had no idea how much time had passed since he'd woken, up until when he'd called the police and then how long had gone by with Shane just standing there staring at Lori, but he knew every minute they delayed reporting her death, was making the situation worse.

It just didn't feel right somehow, it had been too long, something was amiss.

Shane's eyes were starting to shine with threatened but still unshed tears and he sniffed once loudly, shifting nervously on his feet. All the while Rick sat quietly, numbly by the side of the door, watching Shane…watching him _not_ make a move toward Lori.

Not moving nearer to touch his dead lover.

Rick wondered then and he tilted his head to the side slightly before he croaked out,

"Why…" he paused to swallow since he was all cried out and his throat was dry and sore, "…why didn't you bring the police, Shane?" he asked in a quiet and subtly accusing tone.

Shane snapped his eyes to look at Rick then, as if he'd just been slapped, and then he became animated again, his body now whiplash tense as his nostrils flared under his ever too quick rage. He took a step toward Rick with a warning look set on him,

"We **are** the police, Rick." He said through clenched teeth, uselessly, because that was not the point.

And why was Shane so angry anyway, so tense and…defensive?

Rick closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to stop his mind from veering off into bad places,

"She's dead, Shane, it needs to be reported to the author-…"

"How'd she die, Rick?" Shane spat, words sharp and hoarse and his accusatory tone brought Rick's eyes back to the larger built man. He frowned slowly up at Shane, heart racing and fists clenching as he tried to reel in his own anger,

"Looks like she was st-…stabbed." He glanced at the body. "And strangled…"

" **Murdered** , Rick, she was murdered." Shane stated, teeth still clenched as he leaned forward, pointing at the floor when he'd sounded out the word 'murdered' slower the second time.

And then he and Rick stared at one another, accusation and contempt toward each other no longer hidden,

"I can see that." Rick said stonily, steadying himself with a hand on the smoothly painted, tangerine coloured wall as he started to get up. He managed to get his weak legs underneath him as anger and tendrils of adrenalin entered his blood stream.

Just what the fuck was Shane trying to say?

Shane worked his jaw a few times and then he tilted his head to the side, telling signs of his increasing ire,

"I saw the empty bottle of Jack, Rick…you were drinking last night?" he posed it as a question but it still sounded like a statement, an accusation.

Rick clenched his jaw as well, sending Shane a warning look, a silent threat to back the fuck off,

"I was, so wha-…"

"You were _drinking_ , Rick…drinking shit you don't usually drink, you ain't got a high tolerance for whiskey…" Shane stated, voice thick with contention. Rick was about to ask what his point was when Shane got to it, "…did you and Lori have a fight last night, huh, Rick? When you got home? Were you pissed at her for what she said to you yesterday afternoon, did you lose your temper maybe?" his nostrils flared again and he took another step toward Rick, "What did you **do** , **Rick**?" Shane asked gruffly, expression stricken.

Rick blinked slowly, unevenly, as the weight of Shane's accusation set it.

Shane thought he'd _stabbed_ and _strangled_ Lori?

Rick could barely even get his head around that and he nearly went off, nearly lost it at how blatantly Shane was accusing him of _murdering_ his wife, but then he didn't, because something came over him, something calm and dangerous and _suspicious_ of Shane's out of the blue accusation against him.

Rick tilted his head and took a step toward Shane that time, making the other man look at him warily as Rick repeated himself,

"Why didn't you bring the police, Shane?" he asked quietly, raising an eyebrow as Shane frowned, "Why won't you go to her, why can't you touch her dead body?" he sent the accusations right back at the other man, and very quickly Shane was much tenser and fuming, still looking stricken and Rick could practically see his blood boiling.

Always so quick to get into a rage.

They stood that way for a few charged seconds, both thinking the worst of the other, until Shane took a careful step back, keeping his eye on Rick and reaching into his pocket for his phone.

Rick watched, suspiciously, as Shane finally called the police station, his voice barely steady as he logged the call as a ' _187',_ before he methodically asked for forensics and an ambulance as well, he was shaking and the shine of tears had returned to his eyes. Rick didn't know if he believed Shane's sudden onset of emotions, but he was feeling his own emotions and grief much worse than before and so he took a few steps back and slumped against the wall again, sliding down until he was sitting with his head in his blood stained hands.

* * *

Hours passed and turned midday to late afternoon and afternoon into evening, all that time passing as Rick sat on the single seat couch in the living room, with Shane standing off to the side while Rick was questioned by a detective he didn't recognize.

The unfamiliar man's tone was neutral, probably too neutral for Rick not to consider it forced,

"…you found your wife like that this mornin'?" he had a subtle southern accent, far less than Rick or Shane's, which meant he probably wasn't a local.

Rick nodded a few times unevenly, he was exhausted, hung over and silently grieving, Lori's death was still sinking in.

"Why not when you returned home last night?" the man asked, he held a notepad and pen but hadn't written much of anything in the time he'd been sitting there across from Rick.

Rick swallowed painfully as he glanced from the detective to his own hands, no longer stained with Lori's blood,

"I…I slept on the couch, in my uniform," he vaguely gestured at himself and his wrinkled clothes to show he hadn't changed them, "I didn't go into the bedroom at all, I didn't…" Rick frowned, "…I think I did go to the bathroom at one point to pi-…uh, urinate, to urinate…" he cut himself off from swearing crassly and then pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes, "…besides that, I didn't go anywhere but through the kitchen and then…into…here…into the living room." He sighed heavily as he sat leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Were you drinking last night?" the detective asked as he made a short note.

Rick slid his hand down off his face and nodded when the man looked at him, and Rick could feel Shane's glare boring into him. "And do you remember anything more from after you started drinking, besides going to the bathroom to urinate?"

Rick looked at the detective with irritation now, even though he knew procedure, he knew it well, these questions were going to be asked, more than once, repetitively even, whether he liked it or not,

"No, I don't. I sat there on the couch," he gestured to the three seat couch, "all night, until I fell asleep…or, I guess, passed out…" he sighed and looked at the empty bottle of Jack still lying on the floor a few feet away with an evidence marker beside it, "…must've...dropped the bottle at some point...or maybe I kicked it over." he was frowning.

"Right, you don't remember." The detective said pointlessly and when Rick huffed and ran his hands over his face, the man continued, "You said you went to urinate, so you remember leaving the living room and going in the direction of the bedrooms, but you don't recall anything else, like what you did between leaving the bathroom and returning to the living room?" he was starting to sound a bit less neutral now, his questions were turning into suggestions of possibility, as if he were trying to lead Rick in a certain direction.

Rick did remember things, he obviously did, he felt them niggling in the back of his mind, could see bits and pieces, but he couldn't organize his thoughts enough to _recall_ them clearly, he was too wired, feeling raw and exhausted inside, all over, it was hurting,

"No, no I don't recall everything, not with crystal clarity but I _know_ I didn't go into the bedroom, I _know_ I didn't know she was…that she was there…like **that** …" his voice cracked as he gestured to the hallway, "…if I had I would have," he hung his head and clenched a fist into his hair, "I didn't _know_ …I didn't…" Rick slowly leaned his head in his hands as he started to cry again, shoulders shaking with his sobs.

There was a brief lull in the questioning as Rick listened while everyone moved around him, forensics people in white plastic suits, collecting and marking evidence, taking photographs, discussing things, exchanging information.

Lori's body had long since been wheeled out in a black body bag.

How long had it been now? It was dark out and that was all Rick knew.

"Mr. Grimes," the detective said evenly, "we're just trying to get an idea of your situation when you returned home and a timeline of the events." He was back to sounding neutral, "You said you came home close to 3 AM, correct?" he asked for what felt like the hundredth time and Rick sighed heavily, nodding without looking up, "Is it a normal occurrence for you not to check on your wife when you get home?"

Rick swallowed tensely at the question as he raised his head, feeling that Shane was still staring at him and he was getting fed up with it,

"Recently, _yes_ , we were, Lori and I, we were having problems…in our marriage," he answered honestly and didn't think before he said, "she asked me for a divorce yesterday and I was upset, I was having a really bad day, and when I came home I started drin-…" he cut himself off when he noticed the way the small group of officers standing near him glanced at one another, Shane's eyes narrowing and jaw clenching at his last words.

Rick realized then that what he'd said would sound to them all like he had motive.

"I **didn't** kill my wife." He said suddenly, sternly, his eyes wide and his breathing escalating as they all watched him, none of them any more convinced by that outburst.

Rick knew he'd put himself in a sticky situation now, because even if they turned up no evidence on him or if they also happened to find nothing on anyone else, then it would still come around to him. Because Rick was the spouse –it was so often, almost always the spouse in neat domestically set murders- and Rick had been drinking and Rick knew –yes he did, _fuck_ \- he knew how to hide evidence, how to stage a crime scene, how to…get away with murder. It came with the occupation so long as you were smart and paid attention. And the detective would know that too.

Rick was panicking slightly and while he really hadn't wanted to bring it up, he saw no other choice other than to confess now,

"Lori and I…we…" Rick shook his head, palms up on his knees, eyes darting to the officers watching and listening, most of them familiar, "…we were practically separated. Both she and I…" he swallowed tensely again and pursed his lips before just saying it, "…we've been sleeping with other people." He breathed out, seeing a few eyebrows of the familiar officers rise, "I wasn't _upset_ that she wanted a divorce in the sense that she was hurting me, I was upset that it was getting to be so ugly between us," he dragged his hand down the side of his face nervously, "I was upset that I didn't love her anymore." His throat tightened up, "I would never hurt, Lori." Rick said sincerely, his voice breaking and new tears springing to his eyes.

And it wasn't a lie, not at the crux of it all, but he knew, even to his own ears, the 'I don't love her, I wasn't hurt by her' story sounded like a convenient excuse.

But Rick honestly couldn't hurt Lori, he couldn't have…he'd never. Sure, he'd felt like it sometimes, sometimes when she wouldn't stop yelling, provoking him, throwing things, poking at his sore spots with her spiteful words, goading him into arguments. Yes, he'd punched walls and yelled right back at her and felt like he wanted to hurt her sometimes, just to shut her up…but he _never_ had. And that was all that mattered. Never mind that he'd been drunk and he had gaps in his memory…never mind that, because he just couldn't…

He wouldn't. He couldn't have, could he? No… **no!**

And surely, _surely_ he'd have remembered stabbing Lori so violently, strangling her, no matter how drunk he'd been. As it was, he'd never forget the sight of her dead body, so how would he have forgotten being the one to kill her that way?

Rick felt compelled to look at Shane then because he wanted Shane to say 'No, Rick would never do that', but Shane was a picture of fury and bitterness and accusation, and all of it was directed at Rick…

…too much of it. Too much unexplained accusation from a man who'd known Rick nearly all of their lives.

And Rick was becoming suspicious of Shane's insistence to believe, or even just because of his insistence that Rick might have murdered Lori. Shane knew him like a brother, how could he even think that? Even if they weren't best buddies anymore, how could the fundamentals between them have become so warped?

But it had, because it was just as easy for Rick to think that maybe Shane was projecting, maybe Shane was hiding, Shane with his anger issues that he'd been prescribed medication for by a shrink, but that he'd never taken as far as Rick knew. Yes, Rick could see it, Shane's blame was intentional, so much so it was likely he wanted to mislead the investigators, turn the attention away from himself and on to Rick.

After all, in cases like this the spouse would be the prime suspect and Shane knew that. Shane knew the same things Rick did, like how to stage a crime scene and hide evidence…but also how to _plant_ evidence and _frame_ someone. And that got Rick thinking that maybe Shane had forced Lori to write that little note about divorce, maybe she'd decided she didn't want a divorce and Shane had been angry, so he'd tried to set Rick up, to make it seem like Rick had had a trigger, a reason to want to kill Lori and then Shane had done it himself…

…maybe…maybe…

 _'_ _Am I being framed?'_ Rick asked himself with an ache in his chest. Fear. Anger.

And it didn't matter that Rick couldn't imagine Shane was capable of strangling and stabbing Lori in cold blood, he still frowned and looked up at Shane's unchanging, severe expression and he considered the fact that Shane may have actually been the last person to see Lori, since he'd left Shane with Lori when he'd walked out the previous afternoon. Or even if Shane had an alibi, like if he'd left the house after Rick, maybe he'd come back later and 'visited' while Rick had been at work, and then Lori might have retracted her words about wanting a divorce and Shane's clinical anger issues would make it plausible that he could have lost his temper with her.

It painted ' **unstable'** all across Shane's psyche as far as Rick was concerned right then, under the gun with the possibility of a life sentence for murdering his wife weighing down on him.

 _'_ _But I didn't kill her.'_ he thought belatedly and he panicked at his own mental slip up.

Rick was panicking on the inside still with everyone's eyes on him and so he turned it onto Shane,

"What about you, Shane, where were you all night?" Rick slowly stood up and Shane dropped his arms from where they'd been crossed over his chest so that they settled at his sides, fists clenching slowly as he frowned at Rick,

"What?" he asked gruffly.

"When I left the house yesterday afternoon, I left you here with her, that was the last I saw of her until this morning." Was all Rick said, but the implication was clear and Shane's eyes darted around in shock, he looked like he'd been winded and Rick tilted his head as he went on, voice stony, "When they do the autopsy, they're gonna' find that she was either dead or almost dead, by the time I was pulling into the driveway. I have an alibi Shane, I was at the station last night, working, there's a witness to it…" he paused and watched as Shane's wide eyes remained unblinking, he was seething and all eyes were on him now, "where the hell were you?"

The four officers standing behind the detective had all stepped closer when Rick stood up and were now looking between the two Sheriff's Deputies with frowns. The detective had a calculating expression on his face.

Shane finally blinked and he inclined his head,

"You tryna' say that I…that I murdered Lori?" he asked, sounding furious and hoarse.

Rick snorted, feeling hatred for Shane he'd never known before,

"I'm asking you where you were. Were **you** drinking last? You usually are, the second you have a chance once you're off the clock." Rick stated confidently. "Sometimes even **on** the clock." He added.

It was so ugly. Everything was such a fucking mess.

And then before Rick even realized how far he'd been pushed emotionally, it all came tumbling out of him as his pain and grief got the better of him, "You were **here** when Lori and I argued yesterday, you heard her say she wanted a divorce," he clenched his jaw and said through his teeth, "that probably made you happy, huh?"

"Happy?" Shane said on a short breath, a flash of guilt and genuine sorrow crossing his face, anger disappearing for a moment. Rick didn't let up,

"Did you come back over here once I was gone to work?" Rick spat the question at his former best friend, "Did you come back to ask her about the divorce," Shane looked guilty again, "shit, Shane, did you even fucking leave?" he shook his head.

Shane seemed dumbstruck, oddly confused.

Rick ignored it, ignored how everyone was staring, listening,

"You wanted it, for us to get divorced, you've been _waiting_ for it," he stepped toward Shane and the officers stepped forward as well, but Rick stopped and said what he'd been wanting to for months now, "ever since you started fucking her you've been **waiting** for her to leave me, you son of a bitch!" then Rick lunged at Shane but he was shoved and held back by the detective and the nearest officer, while the others stepped in front of Shane.

"How could you do it, Shane, you were my _best friend_ , my brother…how could you…with Lori, with my wife…?" Rick was rambling now, pain in his voice and tears in his eyes.

Everyone present had their eyes on Shane after that last accusation and Rick watched as his usually furious former partner just deflated, breathing heavier by the second and his guilty expression was replaced by confusion, genuine, honest confusion as tears blatantly shone in Shane's eyes,

"Rick, what…" he huffed, shook his head dismally, took a wobbly step back and forward and then set his eyes dead on Rick, "I was _never_ …man, I **_have_** _ **never**_ slept with Lori." He said, voice tight with emotion, "I ain't ever even so much as **tried** to _kiss_ her." Shane said with so much hurt and emotion in his voice that Rick felt his own chest ache as he stared at Shane, "I would never do that, I would never sleep with your _wife_ , Rick." He was shaking his head.

Rick stopped breathing as everything crumbled down around him, he felt like it was all crashing down, it sounded cacophonous, the noise inside his head as he started breaking down, losing it, losing any and all strength he had left, turning everything, sight, sound, taste, all of it, a horrible red , the color, texture and smell…of Lori's blood.

Choking him, assaulting his senses. The conscious nightmare that was his life.

And Rick broke down for the second time that day, reduced to weak, pathetic, aching sobs.

Because God help him, he _believed_ Shane was telling the truth.

* * *

Following the crime scene being taped up and everything being bagged and noted, the police started actively looking into Lori's alleged affair, but Rick was still the number one suspect all the while.

He hadn't helped his case after accusing Shane the way he had, the entire 'I thought my best friend was fucking my wife so I was really fucking angry and bitter and resentful' theme had only added fuel to the fire.

Rick spent the very next day down at the police station, where he'd worked for years, having his finger prints taken by people he was usually in charge of, giving statement after statement to different officers and retelling his version of events over and over to whoever needed to hear it.

They hadn't arrested him because they didn't have any evidence, but they were holding him for questioning and had only given him reprieve to make one phone call the entire day.

Rick considered phoning a lawyer, but in the end he'd tried to call Daryl, because underneath all of the noise in his head, he hadn't stopped thinking about Daryl…but there'd been no answer to his phone call. It had just rung until the call cut and ended. Because Daryl had no voicemail service.

Rick bitterly and miserably figured –he knew- it had to do with that last message he'd sent Daryl when he'd been drunk. That capitalized 'I LOVE YOU'…that text message…that Rick didn't even remember sending.

There was a lot he didn't remember from the night before.

But he'd never forget what Lori's blood had felt like on his hands.

* * *

Lori's funeral took place four days later, once her autopsy had been thoroughly concluded.

Lori's family told Rick they didn't want him there. So he didn't attend.

* * *

The forensics samples taken from the house had to be sent to labs outside of their small town to be tested and catalogued, so Rick spent the next few days in and out of the police station, cooperating completely with the investigation and avoiding questions from the local newspaper reporters hovering around like flies as he drove to and from the station.

He was staying in a motel on the other side of town since his house was a crime scene and he was being monitored because he was not allowed to leave Georgia, hell, probably not even King County. But they still couldn't lock him up because they still had no evidence.

As far as Rick knew they hadn't found anything to link him…or any other person to the murder.

The knife that had been used to stab Lori _nine_ times, in what Rick had been told were slow and deliberate movements, not shallow and quick but deep and with intent to be cruel, had not been found. And while the strangulation marks were made by hands, they found no fingerprints or DNA on her skin, which meant she'd been strangled by someone wearing gloves. There had been no excess blood found anywhere in or around the house, it had been only on her body and around it. Also, due to the statement Rick gave about Lori having an affair, they'd checked for signs of rape or any sort of physical tells of sexual abuse or harm on her person, but there'd been none…and not even a stitch of body fluid on her.

No semen, no saliva, nothing helpful with DNA.

They'd also dusted for fingerprints in the house, as per usual, and had run them through the system.

There had been several found, mostly partials, but the ones they'd picked up definitively, being more recent, had been his own, Lori's, Shane's, one of Lori's female friends…and Daryl's.

That had led them to the questions of who Daryl Dixon was.

Daryl would have easily been a suspect had Rick chosen not to say anything, but he wouldn't let that happen. So he'd confessed to having been sleeping with Daryl, to the surprise and disgust of a few of his colleagues. Rick had confessed to having done so several times, in several months and he'd told them honestly he'd had sex with Daryl in various places in his and Lori's house. A fact that would later add up when the results from forensics came back and they'd found other traces of day to day DNA from Daryl around the house.

Shane had also been able to corroborate the information about Rick's affair, and he'd done so without hesitation.

The police had questioned Lori's female friend and Daryl, and afterward they'd told Rick that Daryl had admitted to sleeping with Rick on multiple occasions, he'd referred to their arrangement as being 'sex only' and he'd even given the police some times and dates of when they'd seen one another, including the very last time they'd been together. He'd also told the police that Rick had mentioned the divorce to him and he'd told them that Rick had seemed upset about it. The investigators had discovered the texts on Rick's phone by that point, months of texting including the few that Daryl had never ended up answering, every detail of which they'd added to the investigation criteria.

One heartache on top of another for Rick.

The investigating officers seemed more and more disgusted by the unraveling details of Rick's affair and they were unsympathetic to Rick's visible hurt at hearing the information about Daryl.

Rick hadn't really expected anything different from them.

But it hurt Rick very badly, even more now, knowing that Daryl had deliberately ignored his texts and then recently, his daily attempts at calling, and that he'd called what they had together, 'sex only'.

Everything else Daryl had told them wasn't untrue, so Rick didn't blame him for being honest with the police. He was only hurt by how detached Daryl was toward him, but then, Rick knew, deep down where it hurt so badly, that Daryl had never led him on, had never given the impression that he actually _cared_ about Rick.

But even after all that, Rick had still considered taking a drive out to Daryl's apartment.

But he wasn't able to work up the nerve to do it. He feared more rejection and he wasn't sure he'd survive it at that point.

Besides, his wife was recently dead, the soil of her grave still fresh, and he wouldn't be so cold as to run to his –ex- lover at such a time, especially when he was under suspicion of murder, hell, Rick was sure that with that on top of everything else, Daryl probably never wanted to see him again, even in passing.

Maybe Daryl even believed that he'd done it, that Rick had killed Lori…

…maybe…

….maybe Rick had and he was just in shock and denial about it.

* * *

Within the following twelve hours of panic, self-doubt and reflection, Rick decided to call his lawyer.

* * *

A further week later, all of the forensics tests came back from the labs and the police still found nothing _directly_ linking Rick to the murder of his wife, and they also still found nothing linking any other person to Lori sexually or in terms of her murder. Even after they'd gone through her text and call records, they found nothing except several vague, impersonal, content indefinable text messages sent to a number that no longer existed. There had been messages she received and sent on the night that she was murdered which implied someone had been to the house to visit her, but they had no clue as to who it could be, which meant there were no leads.

It could have been anyone using a burner phone.

So as far as the police were now concerned, Lori had never had an affair because they found no DNA on her or in the house that indicated a fourth party in the extra-marital affair Rick had confessed to and claimed to have known Lori was having.

And all the conveniently missing evidence, dead end leads and the fact that there had been no forced entry into the house, only made Rick, an experienced police deputy and scorned spouse to the victim, look guiltier and guiltier.

And then came the proverbial nail in Rick's metaphorical coffin.

Lori's autopsy revealed that she died approximately between the hours of 1 AM and 3 AM…and her estimated time of death corresponded with the time that Rick had left work to drive out in response to the noise complaint.

Stanley had told the police that Rick left the station twenty minutes before his shift was over at 2, he'd told them Rick had said he was leaving to respond to a noise complaint. But Rick hadn't told him where the complaint was for. And Rick hadn't gone back to the station to inform Stanley of what had happened or to log the call out, he'd gone straight home. And there were too many drunk and unsure people who had been at the bar that night to say for absolutely certain that they'd seen Rick there, some said maybe yes, most said no.

Lastly, the incoming call made to the police station about the noise complaint was made from a pay phone near the bar, untraceable to any specific person…

…and with all that, Rick's alibi fell through.

His lawyer was starting to look worried, doubtful.

Rick was feeling more and more lost.

And more and more, it made him feel sick to his stomach when he thought about everything that happened over the last few months, over and over in his head, trying to figure out if he'd missed something, if he'd been imagining things about Lori, about Shane.

Truthfully, Rick had never had any proof that Lori was sleeping with someone else, only a gut instinct. And Lori had never admitted to it either. Shane also denied having ever known Lori was cheating, apparently he'd been just as shocked at Rick's accusation toward Lori that afternoon before Lori was murdered.

That had been why he'd looked so uncomfortable at the time, Rick realized it now.

Shane submitted to every and any test and investigation and in the end even confessed to having been in love with Lori for quite a while, but having never acted on it and that left no motive for him to have killed her.

No, it was all on Rick.

Rick who could have been wrong about Lori being unfaithful.

Rick who drank himself into a stupor on the same night his wife had been violently killed.

Rick who didn't remember.

He didn't remember.

He didn't remember going…or not going to the bedroom.

He didn't remember seeing or not seeing Lori alive or dead.

He didn't remember strangling or not strangling her, stabbing or nor stabbing her.

He'd told the police he'd gone to the bathroom to take a piss but the truth was…Rick didn't even remember doing that, he only sort of thought he did.

He just didn't remember.

He had been told though, that the autopsy revealed Lori hadn't died by asphyxiation but instead from her stab wounds, primarily the two that had punctured her lungs and that she had been stabbed with a kitchen knife, a carver knife to be exact and that the very same knife was missing from the Grimes' knife set in the house.

Rick knew it was the one she'd often used to prepare food, food which Rick had never enjoyed eating.

He could picture the large knife in his mind clearly, in her hand or in his own.

As clearly as he could picture the stains of her blood on his shaking hands.

And not long after Rick had been taken into police custody based on his motive to murder his wife, his unsubstantiated alibi and the likely circumstances that all pointed to him, he found himself wondering quite absently one day, just where would he have hidden the knife when he was done with it...

* * *


	6. Hannibal The Cannibal & The Psychopath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- NB: This chapter contains graphic murder/content, sensitive readers please tread lightly.
> 
> \- Many apologies for the delay, thank you for reading.

* * *

**Several Weeks Later**

* * *

Hannibal was sitting at his desk, he had been for the past fifteen minutes, writing an entry about the latest patient he'd seen for the day into one of his many patient journals, this particular one –and many like it- he usually used to write about possibly useful but otherwise boring patients.

Just another name in a book.

Just another person who might serve as entertainment in a particular scenario, but who was not equal.

Hannibal smiled to himself, which was really only a subtle curve to his often inexpressive mouth, because Will came to mind when he considered the word 'equal'.

Will, who Hannibal saw so much potential in with every passing day.

And _especially_ after recent events, such as Will surviving the set up that Hannibal had orchestrated with Tobias.

Telling Will that convenient bit of information about 'a patient mentioning that he thought his friend was involved' in the latest gruesome homicide, had been a spur of the moment idea Hannibal had had, and it had served two purposes. Firstly, the confrontation with Tobias added to Will's mounting mental stress, which was essential to Hannibal's plan to see Will spiral into a deeper mental instability with the help of his encephalitis, and secondly, it also served to confuse Will about whether or not he wanted to –or should- trust Hannibal's intentions toward his own patients.

It was all very sly and yet not all that subtle.

Especially when only just a few days earlier Hannibal had boldly and successfully manipulated Will into believing it was best for Abigail if they concealed the fact that she was a murderer. Truthfully, it hadn't taken much effort and while for a split second after Will had announced that he'd discovered that little secret, Hannibal had wondered whether to approach it confidently or with caution, the former was the approach he chose in the end. And as expected, it had thrown Will off to witness Hannibal's confidence when faced with accusation, because Will was insecure and afraid of the darker parts within himself so he denied them, no matter how glaringly obvious, strikingly attractive and defined they were. Just as they had been to Hannibal in that moment of truth when he'd asked Will the simple question of whether he needed to call his lawyer with regards to concealing Abigail's crime, the indirect question having been ' _is your obligation to be what is expected of you, greater than your want –need- to be who you truly are?_ '.

The latter words had been unspoken and yet the silence had been so loaded with their presence.

Will had chosen to keep the secret and Hannibal had taken far too much pleasure in placing his hand on Will's shoulder and feeling the other man tense under the obtrusive touch…and then slowly relax.

So much progress was made in their _friendship_ and yet so many unsavory things had been revealed, so many in fact, that adding up all of the hints and mind-games Hannibal was laying on Will inside and out of their therapy sessions to confuse, mislead, corner and intrigue him, Hannibal hadn't been playing it all that safe.

He had been taking big risks.

For instance, killing Tobias in 'self-defense' had been an almost blatant lie. Jack had clearly suspected something was amiss and yet Will had either chosen purposely to believe Hannibal's act of being a victim, or, for all of his empathy, he had truly believed it. And those instances of denial in Will were causing setbacks, which was frustrating because it was a result of the obscure trust that Hannibal both wanted and didn't want from Will.

Despite wanting Will's trust - to an extent-, he wanted more for Will to finally go over the edge, which was why he'd so blatantly confessed to wanting to keep Abigail's secret. He'd wanted to _see_ just how far Will was willing to go for those he cared about, and also, sharing such a dark secret would encourage Will to let go around him while simultaneously leading Will to question Hannibal's own morality.

Hannibal was making dangerous, risky moves and that's why he was so frustrated with Will's continued denial.

 **Surely** Will was starting to suspect him of _something_ dubious by now?

He really needed Will to start drawing those sorts of conclusions because he was curious to see how Will would approach his suspicions and Hannibal was eager to see what machinations he could construct to knock down all of Will's precious little building blocks of sanity and control when bigger, darker secrets were unraveled between them. How far could he push Will?

Consistently fragile and unbalanced, Will continued to build and puzzle, trying so hard to find some solid facts in all of the fragments and gore Hannibal left him to play with, all the while he was secretly –almost intimately- slipping inside of Will's mind and carefully taking it apart. It was just starting to get good too, Will was blacking out, losing time, sleep walking, hallucinating, just generally losing his mind as his encephalitis manifested at an increasing rate. They were on the cusp of something beautiful now, so Hannibal wouldn't let him be at peace, not yet –maybe not ever-…but certainly not until he-

There was a knock on the door that drew Hannibal from his musings.

He frowned, looking across the large office space to the relevant door as he realized the knock had come from his private patient's entrance, which meant his visitor was either an unscheduled patient, since Will was his next appointment and would only be there –he checked his wristwatch- 27 minutes from then, or it was Jack, possibly Alana. Neither of the two latter possibilities were presently welcome, but he could not turn them away without good reason, such was the nature of the game he was playing.

Hannibal pushed his chair back and stood up, buttoning his suit jacket as he walked around his desk and then toward the door at an even pace. He stopped at the door and did a quick overview of his office, to be certain everything was in its specific place and then he placed his hand on the cold door handle, turned it and pulled it open, settling his gaze neutrally on the person standing there.

If he were a lesser man, he might have expressed his surprise in that moment.

And it wasn't often that Hannibal was genuinely surprised, but today was one such rare day, because the familiar man, even after so many years passed, standing before him right then was someone he hadn't thought he'd ever see again.

Hannibal hadn't imagined that he'd ever even consider him again…but then there had been that article online a few weeks back about a murder in King County and Hannibal **had** in fact thought about the man standing in his doorway, even if only fleetingly.

The inward surprise of the moment passed as quickly as it had come and Hannibal blinked once calmly as he considered the various reasons for what the unexpected visit might be about.

Whatever the reason though, Hannibal knew his former patient being there was not a coincidence.

With that surety as a basis for whatever may result of the impromptu visit, without a word said or necessary between them, Hannibal stepped back and inclined his head just so, inviting his unexpected former patient inside. Hannibal watched him as he entered, giving him a discreet once over, drawing parameters and possibilities in his head for what his visitor's intentions might be. Hannibal had, after all, had more than a few patients return to see him with negative intent and it had never ended well…for them.

This particular former patient was dressed in casual clothes, a loose black shirt, gray jeans and scuffed dark boots loosely tied over the jeans. He was not wearing a jacket despite the drizzle and cold temperature outside and while a weapon could –with some cleverness- be concealed on his person, Hannibal didn't see anything obvious.

So if there was to be an altercation, there was a good chance it'd be 'hand to hand'. And even though the man looked a bit different than he had when they'd last been in one another's company, older and yet the same somehow with just a bit more muscle in his build, Hannibal didn't feel the need to over calculate the physical challenges. He was confident he would be able to gain the upper hand if a fight were to occur.

With that few seconds assessment out of the way, Hannibal closed the door quietly and continued to watch as the other man took careful, silent steps further inside. Hannibal heard him sniff, watched him cuff a hand back through his damp hair as he looked around and then finally he turned to face Hannibal and raised an eyebrow,

"Sorry ta' just show up." He apologized flatly, sincerity absent, but then, he'd always lacked sincerity.

However, he hadn't forgotten manners, which was something Hannibal always found himself appreciative of.

Hannibal raised his eyebrows slightly, recalling that his last session with the man standing before him hadn't gone badly, in fact, it had been intriguing and had been sort of a 'breakthrough'.

He decided to approach the current situation on just the other side of careful, following his instincts when he noticed his visitor didn't seem tense or uncomfortable. Unlike Will, who was always tense and uncomfortable, especially around Hannibal.

The thought made him smile just slightly,

"I cannot say I was expecting to see you," a necessary pause and then a slight tilt of his head as he placed his hands, wrist in palm, behind his back, "but I also cannot say that your sudden visit isn't a pleasant surprise." He offered, continuing to smile and out of politeness, he gestured to the chaise set under the large windows in his office.

His guest glanced at the couch, eyes sweeping over the length of it with very little consideration before he declined with a small shake of his head,

"No, my clothes are wet, don't want ta' mess it up…probably expensive." He muttered, not looking at the couch again, not looking at anything around him a second time, only looking at Hannibal, really looking.

Something, there was something specific that he'd come there for.

He wasn't even being subtle about it.

Unlike Will, who came to sit and talk himself into delirious miserable circles while thinking he could keep Hannibal out of his liquid dark mind.

Hannibal's smile slanted a bit wider at his guest, not only just because he was appreciative of the consideration for his expensive furniture but also because it was nice to see one of his _worthy_ patients standing before him with **that** specific look in his eyes. Oh, how Hannibal desired to see that look in Will's eyes.

The look of becoming, of knowing, of self-realization and freedom.

Hannibal chose to remain standing as well and he slowly approached the other man until they were standing a meter apart. His guest maintained eye contact, unflinching, something he'd always done without any trouble…something Will still had trouble doing even to that day, after so many months of knowing one another.

It was disappointing how much Will failed to truly _see_ himself.

"What brings you here?" Hannibal asked his guest, but he honestly already knew just by seeing the glint of satisfaction and self- awareness in his guest's eyes.

There was a long moment of complete silence between them before his former patient spoke,

"You once said ta' me…" he licked his lips, "…that therapy only works when we have a genuine desire ta' know ourselves as we are, not as we would like ta' be." He quoted something Hannibal only ever said to certain patients, the few he actually found to hold true potential to be _more_.

No patient had ever shown so much uniqueness as Will had, but they were usually still _more_ than any other ordinary, lesser man or woman.

And the younger man standing before him now had been one of those who were _more_.

Hannibal blinked, eyebrows still slightly risen,

"Yes I did, and as I recall, you never returned to therapy after that particular session." He stated with only a hint of a question in his tone, curious as to why.

The other man finally broke eye contact to glance at the window,

"I couldn't…" he said quietly but evenly.

"Couldn't?" Hannibal prompted when he didn't continue, not seeing a reason to be overly delicate in questioning.

"I couldn't handle it." He admitted and met Hannibal's eyes again.

Another moment of silence passed before Hannibal took another step closer and asked,

"Have you finally come to know yourself as you are, Daryl?" the words were quiet and Hannibal's tone far less benign.

Sharp blue eyes narrowed in thought as Daryl regarded Hannibal, intelligence and wariness and consideration.

He was obviously uncertain of how honest he could or should be, it had been years since Hannibal had first sussed out his partiality to violence and death and his inherent psychopathy, so he was understandably taking the time to determine whether he was able to speak freely.

Hannibal offered him nothing but an even stare, meeting his sharp gaze head on just as he always had…and after a moment Daryl nodded once and bit at the inside of his bottom lip, a habit it seemed he'd never been able to kick in all the years since he'd last been there.

Hannibal continued to watch him, considering just how direct to be in asking questions to which he mostly knew the answers. Despite Daryl's nod to go ahead, Hannibal couldn't be sure Daryl was comfortable enough –yet- to talk about anything explicitly. It was a delicate thing, the human psyche, especially that of an intelligent psychopath, and the secrets to unlocking it required skill and a little bit of finesse.

Daryl was obviously there for a reason, possibly to just speak and say and be heard, and there wasn't any other connection to his visit other than the recent murder in King County, nothing else regarding this particular young man would make any sense. And being as Daryl had come to him after so many years, after so much time had passed since Hannibal had first gotten a glimpse into the mind of this careful –formerly oblivious- psychopath standing before him, it meant there was something to hear, something that needed to be told to someone who would _get it_.

All things considered, being as things were, Hannibal decided to approach the subject categorically, he'd work his way into it, feel Daryl's answer's out until they could speak candidly,  
"How is your brother?" he changed the subject purposely, while still keeping Daryl on the topic of when last they'd been in one another's company, because those sessions had been so intriguingly layered.

Hannibal still remembered the very day Merle Dixon had brought a seventeen year old Daryl to see him.

Merle had been desperate, said he was only willing to spend so much money on therapy because he'd heard that Dr. Lecter dealt with _unstable_ minds, that it was a specialty that he felt Daryl needed help with because Daryl was different, Daryl was broken, Daryl was dangerous in unpredictable and unusual ways.

And yet, Daryl hadn't appeared unstable in any way, in fact, he'd come across as quiet and cautious, but then again, the best psychopaths hardly ever showed what they truly were unless they wanted someone to _see_.

Just like Hannibal had been recently craving to allow Will to _see_ who he truly was, and then for Will to see himself.

 _'_ _All in good time.'_ Hannibal thought, watching as Daryl's eyebrow hiked up once sharply,

"He's in prison." he answered lightly.

Hannibal raised his eyebrows, curiosity climbing,

"And your father?" he asked a follow up question, one that might affect a reaction and watched Daryl closely because in the past his father had been a sore subject.

There'd been physical and verbal abuse throughout Daryl's childhood, mostly from his father but sometimes by his drug addicted brother as well and it had been just after Daryl had –according to Merle- tried to suffocate their father in his drunken sleep, that Merle had dragged Daryl miles away from home, Hannibal assumed now to be somewhere in King County or Georgia in general, to find a private therapist.

But it seemed Daryl had become inured to the topic over the years because his blank expression betrayed no reaction at the mention of the man who had made him suffer pain and humiliation throughout his childhood.

So his **true** state of mind had developed and changed, prospered even and that was good, that was always good.

Physically though, he hadn't changed much, he was still thin and lean with broad shoulders, albeit not as gangly as he'd been as a teen, he was more muscular now, filled out. He still had very fair skin and sly, warning eyes, but the entire package of his person, including his presently wet, short, unevenly cut hair dampened and dark against his skin, adding to his intriguing and captivating appearance, was attractive, and alluring. Those details coupled with Daryl's fine, almost delicate facial features, made him _disarming_ and softened all of his –very- sharp angles.

The way he looked and behaved made it easy for him to hide in plain sight, just as Hannibal used his intelligence and academic knowledge in various fields to account for the many strange things he did in his daily life, no matter how questionable or unorthodox some of them were.

"He's dead." Daryl shifted on his feet, vaguely gesturing with a hand, something close to dismissal.

Hannibal didn't smile, though he wanted to,

"May I ask how it happened?"

Daryl sniffed again and kept his eyes on Hannibal, only very briefly glancing to the side before looking again at the doctor,

"Beaten to death…with a crowbar." He said apathetically, and yet slowly enough that the words seemed savored.

Hannibal nearly smiled again, but he thought better of it for the moment, he also didn't bother to offer false condolences, Daryl wouldn't need them and his father wouldn't deserve them,

"Did they apprehend the person responsible?" he asked curiously, suspicious but not entirely certain...

"Merle." It was a simple answer and it came with the slightest upturn at the corner of Daryl's pale lips.

A simple answer and an even simpler lie.

"How…" Hannibal paused and finally smiled, amused, "…fortunate for you." he said straightforwardly, addressing the homicidal elephant in the room quite casually and Daryl's blue eyes turned dangerous quickly. Hannibal was undeterred, "Two birds with one stone, as they say." He added.

It was a clear and blatant opening for Daryl to know he could speak freely to Hannibal.

Now it remained to see if he'd accept the opening to share his tales, from one psychopath to another.

When Daryl continued to watch him, barely breathing and unmoving, Hannibal continued on casually,

"Would you like a drink?" he offered, gesturing to his liquor cabinet.

Daryl stared at him for a moment longer, carefully determining in silent contemplation whether he trusted Hannibal. And then he nodded once and Hannibal saw it for what it was, more than just an answer to the offered drink, it was him saying **yes** without words, an acknowledgment of Hannibal's last statement as being true.

Hannibal inclined his head and then unclasped his hands from behind his back and Daryl turned to watch Hannibal as the doctor walked to his cabinet, confident enough to turn his back on Daryl and Daryl wise enough to stay where he was, calm and patient.

Hannibal filled the next round of silence with the sounds of clinking glass, the bottle neck of the expensive bourbon setting against the rim of the tumblers, the soft sound of liquid sloshing into the glasses -only enough for a shot- and then he sealed the bottle and set it back in the cupboard before he turned back to Daryl, approaching him with one glass extended until he was near enough to speak quietly,

"Was it cathartic?" he asked ambiguously, but then added, "Your father's death I mean."

Daryl took the extended glass with a steady hand and glanced into the liquid before looking at Hannibal again,

"Yeah."

"Was it quick?" Hannibal attempted directness again, raising a single eyebrow and he waited as Daryl considered the drink and then sipped it, licking his lips before he smirked and raised one eyebrow as well,

"No."

His tone dripped with satisfaction in that simple word.

Hannibal took a few enjoyable seconds to imagine Daryl beating his father to a bloody, bone broken pulp while his brother was more than likely incapacitated from drugs and alcohol in the next room, before he'd have carefully framed his older sibling for their father's death with meticulous detail and staging.

And then he'd slip into the façade of the innocent victim.

Not similar to, but not all that unlike what Hannibal had recently done when faced with Jack after killing Franklyn and Tobias.

Two birds, one stone.

With that thinly veiled admission on the table, it seemed a good time to take a risk, to just jump right in, so Hannibal did,

"If that was your first, would it be foolish of me to assume Lori Grimes was only your second?"

It couldn't get any more straightforward than that and the air around them stilled as Daryl's eyes rose slowly from his drink to meet Hannibal's eyes dead on again. Hannibal thought for a second that he might ask how he knew about that, but Daryl was better than that, he knew better,

"She was." he plainly answered, not needing to ask questions to which he could guess the answers, and the fact that he answered so easily revealed his confidence in Hannibal.

Daryl, like all of Hannibal's worthier patients, knew there was something dark and dangerous about Hannibal and while they never knew quite what it was, they smelled it on him like Hannibal had smelled sickness on Will Graham. Warm and sweet.

Hannibal raised an eyebrow and sipped his drink, appreciating the expensive liquor on his tongue before he spoke,

"Why did you wait so long between your first and second?" he wondered.

Daryl sniffed and clenched his jaw a few times before he shrugged,

"I was still seventeen when it first happened, not long after I last saw you…" he shifted on his feet, eyes fleetingly darting around before looking back to Hannibal and he bobbed his eyebrows, "…and they put me into the system right after, I had ta' see a regulation psychiatrist…" he trailed off, staring at Hannibal as if the rest was obvious and he sipped his drink again.

Hannibal stared right back,

"They medicated you." Hannibal knew and the idea of it nauseated him.

Daryl nodded once to confirm.

Hannibal felt it was cruel to medicate someone like Daryl, someone like himself…or someone like Will Graham.

Such a waste.

Medication was something Hannibal detested, it took away the most interesting aspects of people, especially when their illnesses and imbalances had to do with the brain and mental stability.

He thought of Will **again** –more and more often-, of his advancing Encephalitis and how many doors it was opening for Hannibal into Will's delicious mind.

Sometimes Hannibal wondered what Will's brain might taste like, he'd imagine the various ways in which he could prepare it in a meal, of a presentation that would be complimentary and worthy.

Sometimes…Hannibal felt he only wanted to observe Will. And sometimes he wanted to hurt him.

Sometimes lie to him, other times, tell him the complete truth.

Upset him, provoke him, comfort him, soothe him, protect him, own him, free him, show him, feel him…

…and then sometimes…once in a rare while…Hannibal would allow himself to wonder after the taste of Will, of his pale flesh, but not in terms of food. _A personal indulgence._

There were times when Hannibal so desired to reach out and _feel_ Will's inconsistent but frequent trembling, feel the hotness of his sallow skin when his sickness and the induced seizures made him burn up and sweat, Will's convulsing, his near writhing as his eyes rolled back in his skull and the sound of his breathing becoming erratic.

It was intimate, in those moments when they were alone in his office with Will completely vulnerable before him.

Hannibal had –more than once- wondered after the taste of individual rivulets of sweat as they'd slide down the pale column of Will's tensing throat or from his hairline, down over his smooth temple.

But that was very far from the topic of the moment and he set his attention on Daryl again, tearing his thoughts away from the image of the damp hollow of Will's throat, he was instantly aware that the younger man had been watching him contemplatively, probably having noticed Hannibal's brief distraction.

"How long were you taking the medication?" he picked up the conversation before sipping his drink.

Daryl's lip curled distastefully,

"Three years." He responded, his lips pressed to the rim of his glass as he spoke, eyes fixed on Hannibal.

Hannibal did a quick mental calculation of time passed,

"So you had two years of pure self-control," Hannibal pointed out with a smirk, "what did she do to provoke you?" he referred to Lori Grimes almost directly before he sipped his drink again and he watched as Daryl's attention visibly wandered, his blue eyes losing their focus but not their clarity, Hannibal knew he was more than likely replaying the bloody memory of her death in his mind.

He found himself curious to know the details, he wanted to know what Daryl's recipe for murder had been, what had been his design, and he decided he was done being subtle and indirect,

"Tell me, Daryl, was the sight of her blood flowing from her stab wounds as intoxicating an experience as when you listened to your father's bones break under the weight of your wrathful strikes with the crowbar." Hannibal asked calmly, purposely graphic to evoke all the correct emotions, slipping easily into the depths of Daryl's complicated yet simple psyche, successfully, because his facial expression opened up, revealing his willingness to share by a glint in his eyes.

Daryl was ready to let him in. Daryl wanted to _tell_ him. That was the reason he'd come.

He took a quiet breath and looked at Hannibal again, focused,

"It wasn't about her blood, it wasn't about wrath either." He admitted quietly, his pale lips barely moving but softly shaping every gravelly spoken word.

"What then?" Hannibal enquired.

Daryl blinked slowly, chewing the inside of his lower lip briefly,

"She was becoming…a problem, a complication…" he licked his lips, "…they both were." He added quietly and his lips turned down at the corners, "Clingy, dependent, self-entitled." Each word was said with distaste, his top lip curling back to reveal a few teeth as he spoke.

For a split second, Hannibal had to puzzle out who Daryl meant by 'both', but a second was all it took before the two most important people to the murder in King County came to mind and the entire scenario became even more interesting,

"You intended for Rick Grimes to be arrested for her murder?" Hannibal tilted his head, trying to figure out why, the gears of his mind turning the possibilities over, especially considering that Daryl described them both to be clingy, dependent and self-entitled.

Daryl nodded, just once, always once, in response to his assumption.

Hannibal mentally sifted through the many possibilities and at least one stood out to him with some certainty, one that made it all sort of make sense. And so he went ahead and said,

"You were involved sexually with her…" he paused there and regarded the appeal of Daryl aesthetically and objectively, almost absently comparing him to Will in a way that was borderline non-platonic, the realization of which gave rise to another possibility, "…or perhaps with him." he added and Daryl just continued to stare at him, letting the information settle between them.

Hannibal honestly couldn't tell the answer, Daryl had an excellent poker face,

"Which one was it?" he enquired, fingering the glass he held as he waited for an answer.

And twice in one day, Hannibal was surprised by Daryl,

"Both."

Hannibal could only smile encouragingly, unable to help himself really, considering how _interesting_ such a scenario was. His grin was prompting enough for Daryl to go ahead and tell him a tale.

A tale about his own personal _shattered tea cup_ that had pieced itself back together…

* * *

_Daryl had flushed the condom, wrapped in sufficient toilet paper, first thing when he entered the bathroom just after leaving Lori in the living room of the Grimes' house._

_Only once that was done and gone did he strip his clothes off and get into the shower._

_He stood under the hot spray for a good long while, rolling his head around to get his hair wet, catching water in his mouth to clear away the taste of Lori's saliva, stroking his hand over his flaccid sex as a preliminary rinse off of latex condom stickiness._

_All the while, he was replaying the day's events over in his mind, thinking of Rick and his loving kisses and Lori and her emotional dependency, they were quite a pathetic pair._

_It only took him a few minutes of soaking his skin before he made a decision of just how he'd remove the complication of Lori_ _**and** _ _Rick from his life. It hadn't been his intention in coming to see her that night but it seemed like a perfectly good solution to a growing problem. A prospective problem that he despised even the idea of having in his life, just about as much as he'd hated having his father and Merle around._

_Getting rid of his father and brother had become necessary after too long of existing with them, he'd been unable to stop himself once he'd reached a certain breaking point, once his tolerance had ended._

_The result had been beyond satisfying too, he had no complaints._

_And so while Daryl wanted Lori and Rick out of his life, he didn't want to simply walk away from them, no, there was a deeper, darker_ _ **desire**_ _making itself known throughout the entirety of his physical being. He felt_ _ **wanting**_ _._

_Wanting to ruin them, wanting to hurt them, wanting to break them both._

_The reasons, however, for wanting to get rid of Rick and Lori were different than they had been with Will and Merle Dixon. His brother and father, that had been about self-preservation and revenge. And Daryl's proclivity for cruelty, violence and blood had just made it easy to do, to kill Will and then frame Merle for it._

_He'd killed Will for being the one who incited and bred the violence into their family, for every beating and every broken bone, and he'd framed Merle for being weak and giving in to it, succumbing to being an abuser and a good for nothing redneck._

_In a way, his freshly brewed plan for Lori and Rick would be similar._

_He'd kill Lori for being the one creating an overall problem with her emotional instability, and he'd frame Rick for being weak and being controlled by it. Additionally he'd put them both out of their misery, Lori would be free from her dependency on being with someone else and Rick would be free of Lori's emotional rollercoaster._

_And Daryl would be free of them both, while still being able to live in King County peacefully._

_Save for Shane of course. But he was more of a stone in the road than a concerning pot hole, and if need be, Daryl would just run right over him._

_Maybe literally._

_But that was unimportant to him right then as he smiled to himself, feeling a long since experienced surge of heat and electricity coursing through his blood at the idea of ending Lori's life that night._

_Daryl knew one thing for certain, he wanted to_ _**choke** _ _her, he wanted…had wanted for a while, to put his hands around her delicate neck, from just about day one. There'd be something intimately satisfying in taking her breath away in that manner, as opposed to the usual method of fucking her senseless and breathless._

_In fact, it'd be far more satisfying than fucking her ever had been._

_Daryl smirked to himself. Felt his skin tingle. His mind start to work._

_He'd been mentally hashing out the details for all of a minute when Lori, cluelessly and so conveniently, put herself in the perfect place. She entered the bathroom, Daryl heard the door, knew it was her and he stood stock still under the spray of water pelting his back and shoulders, his eyes focused on the tiled wall as he listened for her movements. She wasn't trying to be quiet, wasn't capable of it really, and when she opened the frosted shower door her fair skin was glowing, the entire expanse of it from head to toe as she stood there naked and wearing only a brilliant smile on her pretty face. She was very pleasing to the eye, had always been._

_While Daryl had taken the most pleasure in degrading her prim and proper housewife, southern belle bullshit façade that very first time he'd fucked her up against a wall in her living room like she was a common slut, he hadn't really minded the act of it at all because she was a pretty thing and she'd been slick and tight and easy in, easy out. The memory was vivid._

_Presently, she asked benignly and redundantly if she 'could join' him in the shower, even as she was already there, naked and with the intent to._

_Daryl played his part, he smiled at her, it was fake but she was hopeless at telling the difference, and he welcomed her in with a tilt of his head, stepping aside to make some room for her under the spray of water, despite the fact that she took up so little room physically…as well as in presence._

_She'd predictably come to seek more contact, pressing their bodies together the second she'd closed herself in with him, her cool dry skin against his skin, slick and wet and Daryl continued to smile at her, like he knew she wanted to be smiled at, all soft and loving, as he brought his wet hands up to brush her slowly dampening hair back from her face. He kissed her, like she liked to be kissed, slow and sensual, as he drew his hands slowly down over her neck, a thrill moving along his spine as he felt her quickening pulse there and he imagined stymieing it under his grip._

_Not yet though, but soon._

_They showered together and Daryl touched her as she liked to be touched, sexually and on just the right side of dirty, just the way he'd been touching her since only just a week after the first time he'd let Rick fuck him._

_Both of them had been so easy, so needy and so attractive, they'd been like putty in his hands._

_Rick and Lori were so different too. Rick was attracted to his perceived sexual dominance and ill treatment and Daryl liked that combination, preferred it even, because it made getting thoroughly fucked and then telling Rick to leave right after so much less complicated. And Lori was attracted to attention and perceived adoration, as long as she believed Daryl was thinking about her, wanting her badly, always, every second, deeply involved in her, she was_ _**so** _ _eager to please him. It was great._

_Or at least it had been._

_But now, they'd fallen in love with him and fucked it all up._

_Rick had all but confessed it and Lori had done so outright._

_And she'd said she would tell Rick –or so she thought- and then the mess of their pathetic lives would bleed into Daryl's._ _**But** _ _, he wouldn't be allowing such a ridiculous thing to_ _**interrupt** _ _his life._

_Instead, he'd play Lori just a little while longer and then leave the mess that she was behind for Rick to try and explain away. Still, Daryl couldn't help the side-thought he had presently –and had had many times since being with Rick- that he'd enjoy killing Rick just a fraction more than he would Lori._

_The times he'd imagined specifically putting his hands around Lori's throat didn't compare to how many times he'd fantasized about hurting, mauling and murdering Rick, sometimes at random, but mostly during sex._

_Sometimes it was gruesome in his imaginings, bloody and drawn out...other times it was quick and intimate._

_Daryl fantasized about Rick more simply because he favored Rick, but not so much that he wouldn't enjoy making him suffer whilst alive, living with Lori's blood on his hands._

_In a different way it would be more satisfying, different than it would have been to bite Rick's tongue from his mouth and hold him down so he'd choke on his blood. Those violent thoughts still gratified him though, those desires still far outweighed his interest in Rick as a man, as a human._

_And the same went for Lori, who Daryl made sure to kiss just a few times more, purposefully deep and slow, but_ _**not** _ _after they'd left the shower. At that point he made sure not to let her get a chance to make any physical contact with him as they dressed in the bedroom she shared with Rick._

_Daryl had let Rick fuck him in that bed and on the floor of that room, twice in the same day once, some time ago-_

_But Lori didn't know that and unlike Rick she'd always been adamant to never let Daryl fuck her in the bedroom._

_And that was the very reason he decided he'd kill her there, in that room._

_But not right then, no, he was many things, but foolishly impulsive wasn't one of them._

_So as he usually would have, Daryl bid her goodbye, pointing out the time to her as an excuse to leave in a hurry and then he'd left her toweling her hair dry in the bedroom as he made his way toward the exit, casually calling back to her when he was nearly at the front door, telling her not to forget to lock the door after him._

_Because locking the door would lull Lori into a false sense of security._

_And of course Lori didn't forget, she locked the door only a minute after she'd heard it open and shut and then she'd walked around switching off all of the lights, still toweling at her long hair as she walked back down the hall into her and Rick's bedroom._

_Daryl knew every move she made because he'd never left._

_He'd opened and shut the door and then he'd hidden inside, waiting, concealed in the pantry of the dark kitchen, until she was making her way back to the bedroom, predictably, to blow dry her hair._

_Lori was a creature of habit. It made her easy pickings._

_Daryl didn't have to walk quietly once the hair dryer was switched on, but it came naturally to him to do so. He'd lived in an abusive home as a child and so he'd learned to be extremely quiet so as never to draw any attention to himself unnecessarily._

_So he made no sound as he left the pantry and walked to the kitchen island counter, where he took a moment to consider whether he should use the cleaver or carving knife. Once decided, Daryl lifted the carving knife out of the knife block noiselessly, figuring it was more practical as something a husband might use to stab his wife with in a fit of anger. Rick was a cop after all, not a butcher._

_A cleaver was something a violent-lusting psychopath would use to hack into a victim for shits and giggles, and while that was actually what he'd prefer to do, it wasn't what Daryl was going for right then. He had to be practical._

_Next, he crouched down and slid open a drawer in the counter opposite the island –he was familiar enough with the Grimes' house to know where to look- Daryl took an unused pair of rubber dishwashing gloves from inside and then he left the kitchen, slipping into the hallway leading to the room and walking the length of the passage silently until he stopped just outside of the bedroom door._

_The hair dryer had been switched off a few seconds earlier and Daryl listened closely for movement, blue eyes narrowed and pulse steady even as he felt his anticipation rising. But there was no adrenalin, because this was not something he had to psyche himself up to do, this was something he craved, something he yearned for…_

_…_ _something he hadn't given into by sheer force of will alone in the last two years, ever since he'd finally managed to get off the antipsychotics and antidepressants that had been forced upon him by the government, medication that had kept him down, kept his mind and feelings muted for far too long._

_Daryl was ready now, and this little threat to his happiness, to his problem free life, had been all he needed to embrace what he really wanted, what came so easily to him…Rick and Lori were trying to build walls around him and it had given him the push he needed to know himself as he truly was._

_Just as Dr. Lecter had said, Dr. Lecter who was the only person who had ever_ _**understood** _ _._

_Daryl licked his lips absently when he heard Lori humming inside the bedroom, she sounded fairly far away from the door, so she was probably about to get into bed. The door was just barely ajar and the light coming from inside was soft and dim, so he knew it was a bedside lamp that was on, not the main overhead light._

_Daryl carefully leaned nearer to peek through the space between the door and the jamb and his blue eyes settled on Lori, who he could see standing at the foot of the bed where she was patting down the bed spread, wearing ugly blue pajamas, dressed and behaving like a good little frigid housewife._

_It amused him how she dressed revealingly for him and then dressed like a frump for her husband._

_Daryl abruptly decided he couldn't wait anymore, he was nearly aching for what was to come and as he pulled the rubber gloves onto his hands, he acknowledged that he'd just been waiting for a reason, any reason, all along, to go down this road again._

_Ever since he'd killed Will Dixon, he'd been living with a deep-seated_ _**need** _ _for more._

_He pushed the bedroom door inward and it swung silently on its well-oiled hinges._

_Lori heard nothing, saw nothing, expected nothing._

_It wasn't until Daryl had walked up right behind her that she sensed his presence and she spun around quickly._

_There was a flash of fright in her expression which turned to confused surprise in under a second when she saw that it was him and as her lips parted, more than likely to give way to a question of what he was doing there, Daryl didn't wait or give her a chance to actually speak._

_Instead, he watched in morbid pleasure and fascination as Lori's surprise was quickly replaced by fear and confusion when Daryl harshly grabbed her throat with one hand and applied pressure, pressing the rubber glove's nodule textured palm tightly against her windpipe, just enough to prevent her from being able to scream._

_The force of his grip elicited a strangled sound of panic from her and before she could start to struggle or fight or claw at him, he kept his blue eyes focused on her wide brown eyes and forcefully stuck the carver knife into her soft abdomen, right in the middle, just below her sternum. And the knife was sharp, so it went in smooth and because of his strength, it broke the skin and cut through her flesh easily, piercing her liver._

_Daryl went in all the way, right to the hilt. Just the way she liked it._

_He smiled at the agony pinching and creasing her face and he enjoyed the sounds of her panicked half choked attempts to breathe._

_He was staring at her intently as she hacked and choked out sounds, muffled, pained, as her hands clutched at his hand holding the knife inside her and she started to shake uncontrollably, tears leaving her eyes at the same time. And that was all after only the first stab he'd taken at her._

_When Daryl stabbed her the second time, her legs buckled, she made a winded, weak sound and fell back onto the bed. He followed the fall of her body by leaning over her, keeping his hand around her throat and he stood between her weakly kicking legs. He would not get onto the bed himself because he wasn't going to risk leaving unnecessary and extra clothing fibers or DNA behind, nothing other than what the police would already find of his in the Grimes' house._

_Daryl drew the knife out again and turned the handle over in his hand to get a proper grip for the new angle of her lying down, before he stabbed her again, and again and again. And each new plunge of the knife into her was much more interesting than the last. Each new broken, halted noise she made, each different or repeated twitch of her limbs, the blur of her tears in her wide eyes, the gurgling sounds and dribbles of blood messing her face as it slipped from her open mouth._

_Lori never stopped looking at him as she bled and suffered and he really appreciated that._

_Daryl stabbed her a few more times, each time in a different place and when there was too much blood soaking her clothes for him to determine another spot, he stopped, leaving the knife embedded in the last place he'd stuck it in her lower stomach and then he waited, watching as she choked on her own blood, body spasming and weakly writhing. He didn't even have to hold her down with anything besides the hand on her throat by that point, his grip wasn't even suffocating, he was just choking her vocally and limiting her breathing, because Lori was waif like, so delicate…so weak, hell, she'd barely even tried to fight._

_She was bleeding a lot, so much, so prettily, and he knew he'd punctured her lung at some point. Her weak struggles eventually stopped and her attempts at screaming had simmered down to grunted attempts at shouts, and then to barely audible groans and were now only soft, pained, broken gasps._

_Getting bored, Daryl latched onto her throat properly with the same hand, except in a vice-like grip now, tight and painful, he was cutting off what little air she was trying to gasp into her deflating lung._

_Lori struggled anew, though just barely, trying to raise her arms and hands in an attempt to shove him off but it was too late and she was too weak to do anything but gasp, cry and twitch and bleed._

_After a short but bruising bout of strangulation, Daryl slackened his grip and then removed his hand altogether, standing up straight again…because she was suffocating all on her own by then, she didn't need his help to end it any quicker._

_Daryl watched for several long silent minutes, standing over her, between her limp legs as she convulsed and blood bubbled up from between her lips and she was wide eyed all the while, still staring at him and he maintained eye contact, waiting for her to be through, to die._

_When finally she became still and the light of life left her eyes, Daryl removed the knife from her with an abrupt, impatient yank and he stepped back, taking in a deep, slow, satisfied breath._

_He took a further minute to watch the blood seep from her body before he raised the knife to his face and he idly sniffed her blood that was coating the stainless steel blade. It was still a bit warm and it was sticky and fresh, clinging to the blade and staining the glove. Daryl then looked around the room and over the length of himself, making sure that there was no excess blood anywhere around or on him, anywhere besides on Lori, the knife and only one of the gloves he wore._

_Satisfied with everything, Daryl moved his gaze back to the piece of paper that he'd spotted on his first glance around, it was set beside Rick's side of the bed on the night stand. Before he walked away from Lori's prone body and over for a closer look, Daryl placed the knife down on her chest and he peeled off the bloody glove, turning it inside out so there would be no dripping, and then he made his way to the bedside._

_He carefully picked the paper up with his clean gloved hand, letting the wedding band she'd set a top it slide off onto the nightstand before he read over the rude divorce note Lori had probably hastily and tactlessly scrawled out at some point after she'd thought Daryl had left and before she'd gone to lock up after him, intending for Rick to come home and find it there, in the bedroom._

_She truly was a cold bitch._

_Without much thought to it, Daryl decided it wouldn't suit his ends if Rick found the conveniently upsetting note in the bedroom. He glanced at the digital beside clock to see how much time he had before –with his gloved hand – he deposited Lori's wedding ring into the drawer where he knew she left it whenever she was about to see him, and then he retrieved the knife. Daryl held the handle with the inside out glove and wiped the blade off on the arm sleeve of Lori's pajamas so that it wouldn't accidently drip through the house, because he intended to take the knife and the gloves with him when he left. Before he left the bedroom, he grabbed the note and then he walked down the hall, through the living room and into the kitchen, where he stuck the note under one of the fridge magnets so it would be easily visible to Rick, who Daryl knew usually liked to eat first thing when he got home from work._

_With that done, Daryl opened a different kitchen counter drawer and took out one of the many –many- clean dish towels folded there, knowing full well it wouldn't be missed. He used his clean gloved hand to wrap the bloody glove and knife inside the dish towel, before removing the clean glove and hiding it away in the towel as well._

_After doing a final check that everything was in order, Daryl switched any remaining lights off and then using the front door key –which was Rick's own that he had given him- Daryl left the house, locking the door behind him again just as Lori usually did and then he walked out silently into the dark, dead silence of night in the safe, quiet suburban street the Grimes' lived on._

_He wasn't concerned about leaving his fingerprints in common places such as on light switches and door handles since he'd been there just three days ago anyway and the police were bound to find his DNA._

_And Daryl trusted that Rick, the good guy that he was, would explain that for him._

_Daryl had parked a decent ways down the street as he always did when he 'visited' the Grimes residence for his trysts with either spouse and so he took a slow, casual walk to his truck. The knife and gloves he carried casually wrapped in the dish towel, looking for all the world like he hadn't just murdered the Deputy Sheriff of King County's wife in cold blood as he strolled along, patting his jeans down in search of his lighter and cigarettes._

_Once he was in the cab of his truck Daryl lit up a smoke and he didn't look back as he drove away._

_He made two stops after that, the first at a random place to dump the knife, the gloves he'd keep and burn them later, and the second stop he made was at a random pay phone to make a call._

_And much later, while Daryl was out, paying a visit to a fuck buddy –slash alibi- he hadn't seen in a while and was right in the middle of 'catching up' with, Rick's text of the inevitable 'I LOVE YOU' had come through and it failed even to amuse Daryl._

_Of course, he didn't bother to answer, why would he when he didn't plan to ever see Rick Grimes again._

* * *

By the time Daryl's tale came to an end, Hannibal and Daryl had long since finished their drinks and they were sitting in the 'Doctor and Patient' seats set across from one another,  
"Rick actually thinks he did it." Daryl added flatly and Hannibal, who was smiling at the entertaining story he'd just heard, blinked and shrugged facially,

"Often times, when a person is faced with extreme emotional trauma and guilt, a nightmarish possibility can seem far more real than a logical one." Daryl stared at him as he had often done when Hannibal talked like a shrink to him, "And the circumstances in which you placed him to make him appear guilty where subtle yet intricate and effective." Hannibal pointed out. And then after a short pause, he ventured a personal thought, "The fact that you kept your affair with Lori untraceable the entire time while being brazen about your sexual interactions with Rick from the very beginning leaves room for the speculation that perhaps this outcome was more premeditated than you let on, Daryl." Hannibal stated quietly, noting how Daryl sat unmoving and unblinking, completely unreadable unlike Will who always fidgeted and never felt settled, "Did you always intend to kill Lori Grimes?"

For the first time since he'd arrived, Daryl slipped into the role of a patient,

"I thought about it."

"You thought, or you fantasized?" Hannibal asked for clarification, crossing his legs over in the opposite direction.

Daryl chewed the inside of his lip and blinked once quickly,

"Fantasized, yeah." He licked his lips, "Rick, too." He admitted.

"Have you fantasized about killing any other lovers you've had?" he enquired, wanting to discern Daryl's pattern, his draw card.

Daryl didn't have to think about it apparently,

"Yeah, twins, just after I got off the meds." He confessed easily, seemingly curious to see where Hannibal was going with this line of questioning, because he knew that Hannibal wanted him to **see** more about his own desires, his own true self and he had a desire to know himself better.

"What kind of relationship did they have with one another?" Hannibal wondered.

Daryl cocked an eyebrow,

"They hated one another, even more after they found out I was sleeping with em' both." He licked his lips absently.

And Hannibal knew the action was unconscious, he also knew it was because Daryl was remembering the conflict between the twins, feeling a thrill for it and instantly he knew that that particular dynamic was Daryl's draw card, just as the conflict between his father and brother had been, just as the conflict between Rick and Lori Grimes had been.

Twisted, personal and familial.

Every psychopath had their tastes. Daryl liked the taste of the conflicted and conflicting, Hannibal liked the taste of the rude and the daring. And Hannibal deeply desired to know where Will Graham's convoluted tastes would lie.

"Have there been other opposing pairs whom you've felt the urge to kill?" Hannibal asked purposely and he smiled revealingly of his approval when Daryl's eyes widened a fraction and bits and pieces of everything he'd felt and wanted started to make just that much more sense to him.

He didn't answer and he didn't have to, they both knew the answer, the truth.

Hannibal took a moment to wonder if Daryl would be attracted to a pair like himself and Will, they were not familial but their conflict ran as deep, as twisted and as intimate as any. Hannibal was suddenly curious to find out, he really was…but then, his interest in Will as an individual – keeping the man all to himself- was far more interesting and important.

Maybe some other time.

Hannibal stood and Daryl did as well, following his lead,

"I'm afraid we have to cut our conversation short, I have a patient arriving soon, but I would love to continue it soon, if it might interest you to do so?"

Daryl had already taken steps away from the chair in the direction of the door and he glanced at Hannibal,

"You mean…as my therapist?" he didn't sound keen on the idea.

"No." Hannibal shook his head lightly as they walked almost shoulder to shoulder, but a reasonable space apart toward the door, "I meant in an informal setting. I could do no more for you as a therapist, Daryl." He said honestly, but Hannibal could see many other ways in which Daryl might be interesting and useful, "Still, I would like to have you for dinner," maybe not literally in the near future, but in time, "are you a vegetarian?"

They'd come to stop at the door and Daryl's sharp blue eyes settled on Hannibal, revealing nothing at first as he contemplated Hannibal's offer –and his words- always smarter than he let on. And then Daryl's eyebrow twitched up and Hannibal could have sworn he saw _knowing_ in Daryl's expression and in his eyes for a brief moment before the younger man shrugged,

"Maybe when I'm in town again, we'll go huntin'…" Hannibal stared at him with dark eyes, "…I prefer to catch my own meat." Daryl added in a tone of voice that revealed nothing, but there was the barest hint of interest and amusement in his eyes.

Hannibal knew Daryl came from a family of hunters, but while that sentence might have sounded like one thing, he was almost certain it meant another.

Hannibal smiled with a few of his teeth, a rare smile,

"I look forward to hearing from you, Daryl."

They stared at each other a moment longer before Daryl nodded once and he shifted on his feet just as Hannibal placed his hand on the door handle and opened it, but then one question remained that Hannibal wanted the answer to before his former patient left,

"Do you expect he will be convicted in the end?"

Daryl had just stepped out and he turned around, he knew Hannibal was talking about Rick. He shrugged,

"Yeah, I expect him to confess." And he sounded like he really did.

Hannibal wanted answers to several more questions after that statement, because Daryl's answer implied he truly had premeditated his actions. Hannibal was curious now to know _why_ Daryl had purchased a burner phone specifically to use for contact with Lori, he wanted to know just where Daryl had dumped the knife, just how he'd known Rick would second guess himse–

Just then the outer door opened and Will Graham stepped in.

Hannibal intentionally spared Will the barest of glances because he didn't want Daryl to sense Will's presence as being significant, especially since the atmosphere had instantly shifted when he walked in and Will looked tense, pale and wary enough that it'd be obvious to a blind person that he'd been expecting to be received by Hannibal _alone_.

Daryl looked at Will, who blinked a few times trying to avoid Daryl's deliberate eye contact, before he looked at Hannibal and swallowed shallowly,

"Am I interrupting?" he asked in his ever unsteady tone.

Daryl looked at Hannibal.

"No, not at all." He said evenly and then he nodded at Daryl casually, "It was good to see you again, I hope you will stay in touch." He said in his most benign and polite voice possible.

Daryl's eyes slid from Hannibal to Will, and he gave the latter a brief and disinterested once over before Daryl slipped silently past Will and disappeared out of the door, closing it behind himself and Hannibal had the feeling he would never see Daryl again. But he'd probably read about him.

Would he be labeled the King County Killer eventually? Or would the media come up with something more creative? Only time would tell.

Hannibal smiled as he turned his attention to Will, who had watched Daryl leave and was now frowning. But the tension in his expression revealed to Hannibal that Will was frowning for a different reason, he was preoccupied by the fact that his brain and stability were becoming increasingly addled and deteriorated, his ailment and his profession only making it worse.

Excellent.

Will looked as dysfunctional and perfect as ever and the sight pleased Hannibal, who was certain that by the time his session with Will was over, he'd have made that moment there in the patient foyer with Daryl Dixon as if it'd never happened in Will's memory.

Going on as if no one had been there between them seconds earlier, Hannibal broke the silence,

"Hello Will," he stepped back and made a gesture with his hand, "please, come in."

* * *


End file.
